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THE GAY LIFE 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 


NOVELS 

Forked Lightning 
Merry Andrew 
Love and a Cottage 
The God in the Garden 
Love in June 
The Smiths oe Surbiton 
The Whip Hand 
The Bachelor Girls 
The Girl Who Couldn’t Lie 
Miss Charity 

The Smiths oe Valley View 
The Cheerful Knave 
The Happy Vanners 
One of the Family 
Lord London 

AND SKETCHES 
The Chicot Papers 
Letters to Dolly 
The Old Game 
Our John, M.P. 

The Jester’s Window 
Potted Brains 
Chicot in America 
London Voices 
So the World Wags 
Chin Music: Dialogues of Today 

" Compromising Martha 
Martha Plays the Fairy 
„ Martha, the Soothsayer 
Charles, His Friend 
The Dramatist at Home 
Come Michaelmas 
The Cheerful Knave 
The Girl Who Couldn’t Lie 
The Embarrassed Butler 
Wisdom Teeth 
Dropping the Pilot 
Forked Lightning (The Green Flag) 


) All through 
Martha 


PAPERS 


PLAYS 

Old 

Martha 



THE 

GAY LIFE 


BY 

KEBLE HOWARD/Uw^'- 

13 * 11 , 


NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY 
LONDON: JOHN LANE, THE BODLEY HEAD 
MCMXVII 



a 




Copyright, 1917, by 

JOHN LANE COMPANY 



FE8 28 1917 


Press of 

J. J. Little &'Ives Co. 
New York, U. S. A. 


© Cl. A 4 5 7 2 4 2 




TO 

SIR ARTHUR PINERO 

IN ADMIRATION AND GRATITUDE 



PREFACE 


A large section of the public, which derives its 
opinion of theatrical life from novels written by 
sex-specialists on the one hand or professional pur- 
veyors of inexpensive pornography on the other, 
has come to believe that Stageland is an unspeak- 
ably awful place wherein wondrously beautiful 
but shockingly ill-paid girls are forever being 
hounded to their doom by fleshy, callous men, gen- 
erally of the Hebrew race. 

We all know these novels. I, for one, am more 
than a little tired of them. Stageland is far wider, 
far cleaner, far healthier than such writers would 
have us believe. There is the repertory theatre, 
for example, where brains are of greater impor- 
tance than fine clothes or physical beauty; there 
are the Halls, where the cultivation of the domes- 
tic virtues would rather astonish easy-going May- 
fair; and there is the West End, where the Vic- 
torian yearning after simple grandeur for its own 
sake dies hard. 

Finally, there is the good, honest, fighting, 
struggling, exulting, despairing, philosophical 
rough-and-tumble of the provinces, where many 
a fine actor and actress lives and works, utterly 
7 


8 


PREFACE 


unknown to the London public. But they do live ! 
And they do love! And they do laugh! 

Something of these neglected aspects of the 
profession of my heart I have tried to mirror in 
the following humble story. 

Keble Howard. 

“As You Like It,” 

Merstham, Surrey. 

June 21, ’i 6 . 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER PAGE 

I. Butting in . . . . # .13 

II. Cold Ham and Cartwheels ... 39 

III. Taking the Knock . . . .69 

IV. Chasing the Limelight ... 98 

V. “Sealskin Pianos” . . . #132 

VI. Cat’s Cradle 168 

VII. “Highbrows” 199 

VIII. “Top-notchers” 235 

IX. The Golden Gate . . . .278 


♦ 


I 


















I 




% 




THE GAY LIFE 



-T 








J 


THE GAY LIFE 


CHAPTER I 

BUTTING IN 

I 

The panel-doctor drummed his fingers on the 
counter of Mr. Nipchin’s dingy little shop. Mr. 
Nipchin was out on business. Mrs. Nipchin stood 
on the other side of the counter, backed by green 
and yellow cardboard boxes of cheap cigarettes, 
and listened to the doctor. Jilly peeped round 
the door that led from the shop to the dark little 
living-room. The doctor did not notice Jilly. Al- 
though turned sixteen, she was not much bigger 
than Orris, who was only twelve. 

“He doesn’t get any better,” said the doctor, 
who could not afford to beat about the bush with 
panel-patients, “and I don’t think he will unless 
you can get him out of this. The boy wants air — 
sea air, for choice. Can you give him a few weeks 
at the sea?” 


13 


14 


THE GAY LIFE 


Mrs. Nipchin, who was a feeble person at the 
best of times, shook her head. Jilly felt that 
she would like to take her mother by the shoul- 
ders and shake the rest of her. Jilly often felt 
like that. 

“It ain’t possible,” said Mrs. Nipchin, gazing 
vacantly through the open doorway into the dingy 
street. “Yer see, the Waterloo Theaytre, where 
me ’usband works of a night, ’as bin shut this last 
two munfs, an’ as fer the shop, I always tells ’im 
as we loses a bit on it ’stead o’ makin’ a bit, so 
w’y keep it open, I says, fer the benefit o’ others? 
Becos, mind yer, they don’t thank yer! Much 
more likely ter grumble when there’s a ” 

“Well,” cut in the doctor, “I must be off. But 
bear in mind what I say: get the boy to the sea 
by hook or by crook; I’m afraid it’s his only 
chance.” 

He hurried out, and Mrs. Nipchin, by way of 
mending matters, sat down behind the counter to 
cry. This was too much for Jilly. She bounced 
at her mother, and pulled the apron from her 
face without ceremony. It was a clean apron. 
Most feeble people are dirty, but Mrs. Nipchin 
could not follow a consistent line, even in that. 

“Come, mother,” said Jilly, “there’s no sort of 
sense in crying! It’s salt air as Orris wants — not 
salt tears! And he’s going to have it, what’s 
more, or my name ain’t Jilly Nipchin!” 

Mrs. Nipchin fumbled feebly for the apron, but 


BUTTING IN 


i5 

not finding it — for Jilly held on firmly — she let 
eight large tears roll down her nose, four on each 
side, and then went to put the potatoes on for 
dinner. Jilly followed her. 

“Look here, mother,” she continued, “am I 
sixteen or am I not?” 

“I think you are,” replied Mrs. Nipchin. 

“You know vbry well I am. If not, there’s the 
Family Bible to bear me out. And now an- 
other thing — do girls of sixteen turn out and 
earn their own livings or do they not?” 

“/ didn’t,” said Mrs. Nipchin, stooping to 
spear a potato which she had dropped, and drop- 
ping five more in the process. 

“Perhaps it would have been better,” observed 
Jilly, “if you had. You might have known how 
many things there are in the world worth crying 
about, and just what amount of good crying 
does.” 

“Go on at me,” said Mrs. Nipchin. “Don’t 
spare me. Go on at me, by all means. It’s all 
I’m fit for. I know that well enough.” 

Having at last collected all the potatoes from 
various corners of the parlour, and coaxed them 
into the saucepan, and set them on the fire, she 
collapsed into the old arm-chair and again took 
up her apron. 

“Now, mother,” Jilly warned her, “if you start 
that waterspout business all over again, as sure 
as eggs is eggs I won’t tell you my plan!” 


1 6 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Plan?” repeated Mrs. Nipchin, eyeing her 
daughter in amazement, as though the word, be- 
ing Hebrew or Sanskrit, had then been introduced 
for the first time to her notice. “Plan?” 

“Yes,” said Jilly. “Plan. There are such 
things, you know, and I’ve got one. I’ve had it a 
long time. It’s bin simmering at the back of me 
head. Put that apron down, mother, and I’ll tell 
you. Keep it up, and not a word shall you hear. 
So now!” 

Mrs. Nipchin let fall the apron, folded her 
hands, and waited. Jilly had always been a 
strange child. From very early days, Mrs. Nip- 
chin had marvelled that this creature could be her 
own offspring. For Jilly said things that she 
could never have heard at home, and did things 
that she had never been taught to do at home. 
She could dance to a street-organ, for example, 
in the lightest and cleverest way; Mrs. Nipchin 
had never taught her that. She could make her 
voice sound as though it came from next door or 
up the chimney or out in the street; Mrs. Nipchin 
had never taught her that. When her father se- 
cured a couple of orders for the pit at the Water- 
loo Theatre, Jilly could come home and “take off” 
all the actors and actresses “to the life”; Mrs. 
Nipchin had never taught her that. With these 
antics, moreover, she could make her father laugh 
as though his pockets were lined with gold; Mrs. 
Nipchin, most certainly, had never taught her 


BUTTING IN 


i7 

that. Indeed, when she came to think of it, she 
had never taught her anything, not even to cry. 

“I’m going on the stage,” said Jilly. 

“On the stage?” repeated Mrs. Nipchin, feel- 
ing for the apron again. 

“That’s what I said, and if you dare to touch 
that apron, mother, I won’t say good-bye to you 
before I go, neither.” 

“What ever will yer father say?” asked the 
poor lady, baulked of her favourite refuge. 

“I can’t help what father says. He’s out of 
work himself, for the time being, and you say the 
shop don’t pay, and the doctor says as Orris 
must go to the seaside. Well, I’m going to get 
the money to send him there, and if father kicks 
up a row you must nobble ’im, mother.” 

“Nobble ’im?” gasped Mrs. Nipchin. 

“That’s what I said.” 

“Me? Nobble ’im? Nobble yer father?” 

“Yes, mother. You don’t want Orris to die, 
do yer?” 

Up came the apron, and this time Mrs. Nip- 
chin would not be denied. Jilly went round to the 
back of the old arm-chair, and put her arms round 
her mother’s neck. 

“Chuck it, old dear,” she murmured, in her 
silky, caressing little way. “We all loves Orris, 
don’t we? And the money must be got, mustn’t 
it? And I’m the one to get it. Don’t you be 
afraid, mother. I know folks. I’m not a kid. 


i8 


THE GAY LIFE 


Nor yet a fool. I know my way about, 
thanks muchly. Jest you trust yer Jill. She’ll 
pull the chestnuts out o’ the fire. Fat lot father 
knows about gels, or anything else for that 
matter, ’cept shovin’ flats about and muddlin’ the 
shop accounts. I know father. ’E’s a good sort, 
bless ’im, but ’e’s N. G. For getting on, I mean. 
Jest a couple o’ kids tergether — that’s what you 
and father are. Guess I’m what they call a 
throwback. You’ll see. I’ve watched them rotten 
actresses at the ’Loo, and I can knock their silly 
heads off! Jest you wait a bit. Orris shall go 
to the sea, and you shall have a new dress, and 
father can muddle along in the old way, bless 
’im, and lose a bit over the shop till ’e’s ninety!” 

Jilly concluded this remarkable harangue by do- 
ing the “splits.” She then went upstairs making 
noises like a taxi-cab, kissed Orris, told him he 
was going to the seaside — which at once brought 
colour to his cheeks and a new light to his eyes — 
made a grimace at a passing stoker who had 
dared to blow her a kiss, gave the yellow-hammer 
some fresh bath-water and a few grains of seed, 
clapped on her mother’s best hat, and was out in 
York Lane in less than five minutes, all told. 

“If I disappoint the kid,” she muttered, “God 
may forgive me but I’ll never forgive meself ! So 
buck into it, Jilly Nipchin, and yer’ll live ter play 
’Feelia an’ Lady Macbeth at the ’Ippodrome 
yet! 


BUTTING IN 


19 


11 

Ilott’s Theatrical Agency, for which Jilly was 
bound, is not the smartest of its kind. It is situ- 
ated in a narrow street on the south side of the 
Strand, and the outer room, where the applicants 
assemble, is mercifully dark. An old and shiny 
coat will pass muster at Ilott’s that would never 
do for the light and airy waiting-room where the 
London artistes flaunt their finery. An old skirt 
is not so old, after all, at Ilott’s; boots that have 
tramped many a mile in search of work forget 
that burst at the seam or that hole in the sole; old 
hats that have been trimmed and retrimmed, 
brushed and rebrushed, as the case may be, take 
on quite a jaunty and juvenile air in the waiting- 
room at Ilott’s. 

It is the same with the wearers. Once inside 
Mr. Ilott’s friendly door, and lines disappear 
from tired faces like magic; complexions are 
clear again, eyes are bright once more, hollows 
in the cheek are not so visible. It is always arti- 
ficial light in the waiting-room at Ilott’s, and the 
mummer loves the light in which he lives. 

Jilly had never been in that waiting-room be- 
fore, but she had often passed the door, and had 
always felt that fame and fortune lay beyond the 
threshold. This morning, when she took the 
plunge, her heart was beating very fast indeed, 


20 


THE GAY LIFE 


but her sharp little face, with the shrewd, merry 
grey eyes set so well in the head, and the deter- 
mined little mouth so firmly compressed, looked 
almost as calm as she hoped and imagined. 

What a curious collection of types met her eye ! 
Here were old men in top-hats and mangy fur 
collars, rubbing elbows with pale youths in shabby 
tight suits and the latest style of collar. Here 
were women of all ages, from fat old ladies, who 
had played Juliet to the Romeo of every dead 
and gone celebrity you could name, to slim girls 
with wistful faces who had never played anything 
worth speaking about, and felt convinced that they 
never would. 

What a collection! What hunger, and hope, 
and disappointment, and simulated self-confidence 
were here! Snatches of conversation fell on her 
ears: 

“I told him straight, my boy! Ten pounds or 
nothing! Take it or leave it!” 

“Anything more disgraceful I never saw as 
long as I’ve been in the profession! I wouldn’t 
have put a pig in such dressing-rooms! As for 
my throat before the week was out !” 

“You don’t want to go up West for it. I’ll 
give you an Address, dear, where you can get just 
the same thing for ” 

“As I told Irving when I was with him at the 
Lyceum, ‘Harry,’ I said, ‘as sure as ever you cast 
that man for ’Oratio yer askin’ fer a bloomer,’ 


BUTTING IN 21 

I said. And Irving says to me, ‘Tom, old 
boy ’ ” 

Most of them were standing up, tired as they 
looked. This puzzled Jilly, who, for all her 
swank, was glad to nestle down on a bench by 
the side of a very tall, very pale girl with dark 
hair and a voice almost as deep as a man’s. 

“Tired, dear?” asked the tall girl, in the gloom- 
iest, deepest tones that Jilly had ever heard. 

“Not so much as all that comes to,” said Jilly, 
“but, seeing a spare pew, I thought I might as 
well occupy it. Hope you don’t object?” 

“I?” said the tall girl, in the same cavernous, 
sepulchral manner. “Not in the least. But you 
don’t stand much chance of getting a shop if you 
sit down. Or, for that matter,” she added, touch- 
ing an even deeper note yet, so that Jilly won- 
dered if she were a “girl-baritone,” or something 
splendid of that sort, “if you stand up.” 

Jilly did not wish to appear stupid. At the 
same time, she knew very well that the best way 
to get information quickly is to ask questions. 
Having duly pondered over the tall girl’s enig- 
matic remark, therefore, and discovered no solu- 
tion, she observed: 

“Sorry and all that, old thing, but I don’t get 
you.” 

“You soon will,” reverberated the tall girl. 
“When Ilott comes in. If he can’t see you, you 


22 THE GAY LIFE 

might as well have stayed at home — if you have 
a home.” 

“Oh! Now I’m on! Then, if I may put the 
question, why don’t you stand up like all the 
rest?” 

“Because Ilott knows I’m here. He sent for 
me.” To hear her, you would have thought that 
Ilott was the public hangman. 

“Come,” said Jilly, in her cheery little way, 
“that means he’s got a shop for you, don’t it?” 

“Yes, I suppose so.” The tall girl sighed 
deeply. “More drama! More Wigans! Have 
you ever played at Wigan, dear?” 

“I’ve never played anywhere,” confessed Jilly, 
lowering her voice. 

“Then don’t,” boomed the tall girl. 

“But I must! I need the money! It’s not fer 
meself ! It’s for my kiddy brother, who’s ill, and 
the doc. says he wants sea air or he’ll never get 
well! I say, when you see Ilott, put in a word 
for me, will yer? I’m a nippy little thing, and 
I don’t care what I do !” 

“What’s your line?” asked the tall girl, very 
gloomily indeed. 

“Anything! Dance, sing, hang by me teeth 
from the flys, if yer like !” 

“Could you play a boy, d’you think?” 

“Rather! I should just say I could!” Jilly 
placed two fingers in her mouth and blew a pierc- 
ing blast. “How’s that?” 


BUTTING IN 


23 

Like a field of corn suddenly smitten by a gale 
of wind, everybody in the room turned in their 
direction. But the tall girl regarded them with 
such mournful eyes, and Jilly looked so surprised 
and innocent, that they thought some cheeky 
street-urchin must have shoved his head in at the 
door and so inquired no further into the matter. 

“Excellent,” said the tall girl, without enthusi- 
asm. “I’ll mention you to Ilott. What’s your 
name? Have you a card?” 

“Card?” returned Jilly. “Ho, yus! Here — 
ees — may — card.” She went through the motions 
of a very grand lady opening a card-case with 
gloved fingers. “Leedy — Jilly — Nipchin. Is — 
Lord — if ilott — at home?” 

The tall girl, without relaxing a muscle of her 
face, wrote the name on an envelope. 

“Very well. I’ll do what I can. But you won’t 
like it, I can promise you that. Cold and dirty 
dressing-rooms, dear; stuffy and dirty trains; 
stuffy and dirty lodgings. You won’t like it.” 

“But what about when you get to town?” Jilly 
reminded her. 

“You never do,” chanted the tall girl in her 
boots. “You go on hoping, perhaps, but you 
never do.” 

'7 shall,” said Jilly confidently. 

The tall girl slowly shook her head. 

“No, dear. You never will.” 

She was still shaking her head very mournfully 


24 


THE GAY LIFE 


when a door at the far end of the room suddenly 
opened. The shabby, eager crowd surged for- 
ward, and all the conversation stopped as though 
they had been stricken dumb. 

“Miss Dinwiddy?” said a sharp, business-like 
voice. “Is Miss Eleanor Dinwiddy here?” 

“Here,” replied the tall girl, rising majestically 
and moving forward. 

The crowd opened, and the tall girl passed be- 
tween the two rows of envious, hungry faces. 
Then the lane closed up again, and the conver- 
sation went on as before. 

“What’s doing?” asked somebody. 

“ ‘Stricken ’Ome,’ ” replied somebody else. 
“Braby and Mallett er sendin’ it out agen — 
Threes and Fit-Ups.” 

“Jer mean to say they’re going to give Nell 
Dinwiddy Lady Di?” scoffed a big, bony woman 
with red hair that was grey at the roots. 

“Looks like it. There’s nothing else in it for 
’er.” 

“Well I am blest! And me out! That’s torn 
it! I’m off!” 

But she stayed, for all that, and watched the 
door of the agent’s private office with the eye of 
a hawk. 


Ill 

Braby and Mallett must have made up their 
minds very quickly, for in less than two minutes 


BUTTING IN 


25 

Miss Eleanor Dinwiddy reappeared, her coun- 
tenance blacker than ever. 

“Shopped?” asked a little man with a nose that 
turned to heaven. 

“Yes,” groaned Miss Dinwiddy. 

“Good for you, Nell,” said the little man. 
“ ’Appen to know if they’ve cast ‘Ostler Jim’? 
I played it in Australia two year ago.” 

“I think not. I told them you were here.” 
“Bless yer, Nell ! I’ll do as much for you some 
day!” He caught her hand as she passed, and 
gave it a hearty squeeze. 

Miss Dinwiddy, her face in statuesque repose, 
pushed through the crowd and resumed her seat 
by Jilly. 

“So glad!” said Jilly. 

“Thank you, dear. But I knew it was my fate. 
I mentioned you. Ilott will call for you at any 
moment.” 

“My golly good goodness!” exclaimed Jilly, 
and instantly straightened her mother’s best hat. 

“If it gets as far as terms,” advised Miss Din- 
widdy, “ask thirty-five. You won’t get it, but ask 
it. Being a boy, I expect they’ll find the clothes. 
I have to find my own, of course. I always do. 
Good-bye and good luck.” 

“Thanks ever so much!” said Jilly, with just a 
suspicion of moisture in her bright little eyes. 

Miss Dinwiddy smiled gloomily, patted her 
shoulder, and was gone. 


2 6 


THE GAY LIFE 


Jilly waited an hour, two hours. It was now 
dinner-time, and the crowd thinned consider- 
ably, for the old hands knew that Ilott and his 
clients had slipped out to lunch by a private door. 
But Jilly was not an old hand. She was a very 
young one, and very eager, so she stuck to her 
seat, expecting every moment to hear her name 
called. 

By three o’clock the room was full again. A 
mingled aroma of whisky, gin, beer, and cheap 
cigarettes filled the air — if one may so describe 
the atmosphere of Mr. Ilott’s waiting-room. The 
talk was a little louder. Salaries received in the 
“palmy days” of the Drama grew larger. The 
parts played were more magnificent. Successes 
were more tempestuous. Big names were bandied 
to and fro with careless ease. “Management” 
came in sight! One gentleman, in a coat deco- 
rated with the skin of some mysterious animal, 
even spoke, with contempt, of theatrical knight- 
hoods. He did not add that he had met a pros- 
perous and open-handed comedian on the North 
side of the Strand, and engaged him in earnest 
conversation at the mouth of Exeter Street. 

At last the door of Mr. Ilott’s room opened. 
Silence as before. 

“Miss Nipchin?” inquired Mr. Ilott, in a some- 
what mellower voice. “Miss Jilly Nipchin?” 

“ ’Oo in ’ell’s that?” muttered a tragedian. 

Jilly sprang on to the seat of the bench. 


BUTTING IN 


27 

“Here!” she replied, in the sepulchral tones of 
Miss Dinwiddy. 

They all turned to stare at her, and when they 
saw how small she was, and what a merry little 
face she had for all the emptiness of her little 
interior, and being relieved, perhaps, because she 
was not likely to compete with anybody present, 
there was a general laugh. 

“Will you come this way, please?” said Mr. 
41ott, and he returned to his private office, leaving 
behind him the scent of a rather good cigar. 

Mr. Braby, a large, dark gentleman, with a 
nose very like a rainbow in shape, and not wholly 
unlike a rainbow in colour, was sitting in a deep 
arm-chair with his back to the window. He did 
not move as Jilly entered, but merely scanned her 
from head to foot and back again. Jilly looked 
about for Mallett, but could not discover him. In 
this she was not alone. Nobody ever had dis- 
covered Mallett. 

“Sit down, Miss Nipchin,” said Mr. Ilott, 
briskly but not at all unkindly. “This is Mr. 
Braby.” 

“How do,” said Jilly, jerking her head at Mr. 
Braby. 

Mr. Braby did not utter a word or move a 
muscle. 

“Mr. Braby,” continued Ilott, “together 
with his partner, Mr. Mallett, is about to take 


28 


THE GAY LIFE 


out a tour of ‘The Stricken Home.’ Do you know 
the play, Miss Nipchin?” 

“Seen pictures of it on the walls/’ said Jilly. 

“No doubt you have. It’s a fine play and a 
sure draw. Well, now, there’s a very good boy’s 
part going, and Miss Dinwiddy, whom we en- 
gaged this morning, mentioned your name for it. 
Are you a good boy?” 

Jilly was very frightened, especially of the 
silent and motionless Braby, but she decided to 
repeat her success of the morning. Placing two 
fingers in her mouth, she blew the loudest and 
shrillest whistle she could manage. Mr. Braby 
jumped a little, but even then he did not speak. 
As for Mr. Ilott, he put his fingers in his ears, and 
puckered up his face like one in pain. 

“That’s all very well as far as it goes,” he ob- 
served, when the performance was over, “but it 
doesn’t tell us much about your capabilities as an 
actress. Mr. Braby is very particular about giv- 
ing his patrons the best acting to be seen out of 
the West End. Indeed, many people think that 
his companies are better than West End com- 
panies. What experience have you had in boy 
parts, Miss Nipchin?” 

It was not a very large office, but there was 
just room. Jilly rose, turned a cartwheel, and 
sat down. Mr. Braby had not stirred a limb or a 
feature. 


BUTTING IN 


29 

“Excellent!” exclaimed Mr. Ilott. “I wish I 
could do that, don’t you, Braby?” 

Mr. Braby did not reply. He did not even turn 
his head. He just stared at Jilly like a wooden 
idol. 

“ ‘Whistle and cartwheel,’ ” wrote Mr. Ilott 
on a slip of paper. “Both useful things, Miss 
Nipchin, in the right part. Now tell me some of 
the characters you have played.” 

“Haven’t played none,” Jilly blurted out. 

“IVhat?” cried Mr. Ilott, gazing at her in as- 
tonishment over his spectacles. “Did you say 
you had never played a part?” 

“That’s right,” said Jilly. 

“But Miss Dinwiddy gave us to under- 
stand ” 

“It wasn’t her fault,” broke in Jilly quickly. 
“You mustn’t blame it on her. She asked me if I 
could play a boy, and I said I could. And so I 
could! You just try me!” 

Mr. Ilott glanced at Mr. Braby. Mr. Braby, 
still sphinx-like, gazed at Jilly. Mr. Ilott shook 
his head. 

“I’m afraid you’ve been wasting our time, Miss 
Nipchin,” he observed. 

Poor Jilly’s little heart went down into her 
shabby little boots. But then she thought of 
Orris, fading away, like the yellow-hammer, for 
want of air, and up it came again. 

“Look here, gents! Everybody must make a 


THE GAY LIFE 


30 

beginning! W’y, even Marie Lloyd had to make 
a beginning! You just try me ! It’s all inside me, 
and I’ll soon get it out! I’d make a lovely boy, 
I would indeed! Do give me a chance, won’t 
yer?” 

Mr. Ilott rose. 

“Mr. Braby would be very glad to give you a 
chance, I’m sure, but times are bad, and managers 
can’t afford to take risks. This is an important 
part, and we must have an actress of experience 
for it. However, I’ll enter your name on my 
books, Miss Nipchin. Come in every day, and 
I may find you something more suited for a 
novice. Good afternoon.” 

He moved to the door, but Jilly intercepted 
him. 

“Just a minute!” she implored, catching him 
by the coat with two feverish little hands. “I’d 
come cheap, I would indeed! I don’t want no 
thirty-five shillings. Give me enough to live on, 
and I’ll live on half of it, and send the rest home 
for my little brother. He’s ill, sir, been ill a long 
time, and the doctor says he won’t never get better 
unless he gets to the seaside. That’s what I wants 
the money for, as God hears me ! I’ll work meself 
to the bone, I will indeed! Just try me! I’ll 
make the nippiest little kid you ever saw! Ask 
’im to try me! Do, please, ask him to try me!” 

The tears were running down her face, making 
a strange contrast with the jaunty hat on her head, 


BUTTING IN 


3i 

but she never let go of Mr. Ilott’s coat. The 
agent, who was not at all a bad sort, looked at 
Mr. Braby once again. Mr. Braby moved not a 
twentieth part of an inch. 

“I’m afraid it’s no go,” said Mr. Ilott. “I’m 
sorry to hear about your brother, and I hope he’ll 
soon be better, but you must see that we can’t 
afford to employ inexperienced people out of 
charity. Come, now ! Be a good girl, and don’t 
waste any more of our time. Come in every day, 
as I told you, and I’ll do my best.” 

He laid his hand on the handle of the door, but 
Jilly pulled it off. 

“All right,” she agreed, swallowing her sobs 
with a huge effort. “I’ll be good. Give me half a 
shake to polish up me dial. I don’t want all those 
folks to see me like this.” 

She searched for a grubby handkerchief, found 
it, and attacked her nose with such vigour that 
it shone like the setting sun. 

“I’ll let you out by the other door,” offered 
the agent. 

“Thanks,” said Jilly, now quite herself again. 
She looked at Braby. “So long, old top!” 

And out she went. 


IV 

Orris, lying in his bed and staring into the win- 
dows of the Pullman cars bound for the sea with 


THE GAY LIFE 


32 

their load of yawning, peevish passengers, sud- 
denly heard Jilly’ s light feet on the stairs. 

“Where you been?” he asked, his white face 
brightening when she burst into the room. 

“Never mind where I been,” returned Jilly 
breathlessly. “I’ve got a plan. Something good. 
Something to do with you going to the seaside. 
But you must swear never to tell father!” 

Orris wet his forefinger and drew it across his 
throat. 

“I’m going to borrer yore clothes,” explained 
Jilly. “You mustn’t ask me why nor nothing 
about it.” Very rapidly she gathered them all 
into a bundle. “Is this the lot?” 

“You ain’t got the braces,” said Orris. “W’y 
not ’ave the Sunday togs?” 

“I don’t want the Sunday ones. These are just 
the ticket. So long. See you later. Not a word, 
mind, not to mother nor nobody.” And she bus- 
tled out of the room and into her own little attic. 

Mr. Ilott and Mr. Braby, having engaged the 
small comedian with the upturned nose for Ostler 
Jim, and filled up all the other parts in “The 
Stricken Home,” with the exception of the boy, 
felt that they had done a good day’s work and 
deserved a good dinner. Mr. Ilott suggested oys- 
ters at Gow’s, with a porterhouse steak to follow, 
and Mr. Braby, coming to life at last, nodded 
assent. More than that, he actually lifted him- 


BUTTING IN 


33 

self out of the arm-chair, stretched himself — as 
though to convince Mr. Ilott that he could do 
anything of that sort if he liked — put on his hat, 
and followed the agent down the private passage 
into the street. 

“Piper, sir I Litest! Speshul! Piper, sir!” 

A rather ragged urchin, dirty and barefooted, 
barred the way, thrusting a paper right under 
Mr. Ilott’ s nose. 

Mr. Ilott found a halfpenny, bought the paper, 
and passed on. But the urchin was not done with 
them yet. 

“Taxi, sir? ’Ave a taxi, capting?” 

“No, thanks,” said Mr. Ilott. “Get out of 
the way, boy.” 

“All right, capting! Good luck, Colonel! 
Good luck to ver ‘Stricken ’Ome,’ capting!” 

The two men stopped, and stared at the boy. 
He flung his papers to the pavement, turned a 
cartwheel, and picked them up again, grinning. 

“Come here, boy,” said the agent. “What do 
you know about ‘The Stricken Home, 1 eh?” 

“Bless yer, sir, I knows pretty nigh heverythink, 
I does! I knows that pl’y back’ards! Pl’yed ver 
kid in it, I ’ave, scores o’ times !” 

Mr. Ilott looked at Mr. Braby; Mr. Braby 
looked at the boy. The manager had suddenly 
turned to stone again. 

“Played the kid in it?” repeated Mr. Ilott. 
“Where?” 


34 


THE GAY LIFE 


“At ver old Waterloo Theaytre, dahn ver road 
there 1” 

“Is that the truth?” 

The urchin wet his finger, and drew it across 
his throat. 

Again Mr. Ilott looked at Mr. Braby. In the 
theatrical business, lucky finds are sometimes 
made in this unexpected way. Mr. Braby turned 
and walked back up the passage. 

“Come this way, boy,” said Mr. Ilott, “and I 
may be able to find you a better job than selling 
papers.” 

“Right yew are, capting!” 

The little procession went along the passage 
and into the private office. Mr. Ilott switched on 
the light. Mr. Braby sank into the arm-chair. 
As for the urchin, he lingered in the doorway 
cautiously. 

“Don’t be afraid, boy,” observed the agent. 
“Come in and shut the door.” 

The urchin obeyed, but he still remained as 
near to the door and as far from Mr. Ilott as 
possible. 

“Now,” said the agent, seating himself at his 
desk, and taking up a pen, “what’s your name, 
boy?” 

“Wot’s thet ter do wiv yew?” demanded the 
lad truculently. 

Mr. Ilott smiled. “You don’t understand. 
This gentleman is taking out a tour of ‘The 


BUTTING IN 


35 

Stricken Home,’ the play you mentioned outside. 
By the way, what made you mention it?” 

“I ’eard some of ’em talkin’ abaht it as they 
come aht.” 

“Oh, I see. Well, we want a boy for the part 
you say you played at the Waterloo Theatre. 
Would you like to play it again on tour?” 

“Not ’arf I wouldn’t!” 

“Well, then, I must have your name, and make 
some inquiries about you. The stage-manager at 
the Waterloo Theatre is quite an old friend of 
mine. Let me see, what’s his name again?” 

“Mister Doolan.” 

“That’s quite correct. I’ll see Mr. Doolan to- 
night, and if he says you gave a good perform- 
ance I have no doubt Mr. Braby will offer you 
the part for tour. You can come and see me at 
ten o’clock to-morrow morning. Now, the name, 
please?” 

“Nipchin.” 

“What’s that?” Mr. Ilott looked up sharply. 

Mr. Braby actually blinked. 

“Nipchin,” repeated the urchin. 

“That’s very remarkable,” observed Mr. Ilott, 
glancing at Mr. Braby. “It’s not a common 
name. Have you a sister?” 

“Nah.” 

“Or any female relative of that name?” 

“On’y a mother.” 

“That’s very strange! Quite a coincidence! 


36 THE GAY LIFE 

Nipchin, eh? Well, give me your other name.” 

“Jiliy” 

Mr. Braby blinked again, several times. As 
for Mr. Ilott, he rose from his chair, went across 
to the boy, whose eyes shone with delight, and 
pulled off his ragged cap. A crop of auburn 
hair tumbled down about the collarless coat. 

“You little wretch!” cried the agent. “How 
dare you come here and call yourself a boy?” 

“I didn’t,” said Jiliy stoutly. “I never said I 
was a boy. You called me a boy, which shows 
you thought I was one, which shows I can act 
one. So wot about it now?” 

Mr. Ilott looked at Mr. Braby. Mr. Braby, 
very slowly and carefully, lowered his left eye- 
lid and raised it again. 

“Well, Miss Nipchin,” admitted the agent, 
“you’ve stolen a march on us. I congratulate you. 
Mr. Braby will be glad to offer you the part for 
tour at a salary of twenty-five shillings a week.” 

“Nothing doing,” said Jiliy. 

“Eh?” 

“Nothing doing. I told you this afternoon I’d 
come for anything you liked to offer, and you 
turned me down. Yes, you did! I begged you 
to take me on, and you turned me down. Now 
you can see I’m the goods and you want me for 
half nothing. You don’t do it on me that way.” 

Mr. Ilott looked at Mr. Braby. Mr. Braby 
coughed — very slightly. 


BUTTING IN 


37 

‘‘Perhaps you’ll tell me, Miss Nipchin, what 
you expect? Please bear in mind that you have 
no experience, and ” 

“Yes, and I also bear in mind that I’ve got a 
stomach, which ’as to be filled, and a back, which 
’as to be covered. Thirty-five bob a week is my 
terms. Take it or leave it.” 

Mr. Ilott did not even glance at Mr. Braby this 
time. He closed his book, put it away in the 
drawer, and locked the drawer. 

“Good-night, Miss Nipchin. We won’t trouble 
you any further in the matter.” 

“Thirty-two-and-six,” corrected Jilly. 

Mr. Ilott rose. 

“Good-night, Miss Nipchin.” 

“Thirty bob,” suggested Jilly. 

Mr. Ilott put on his hat. 

“Good-night, Miss Nipchin.” 

“Look here,” said Jilly. “I’ll tell you what 
I’ll do, but don’t let it go any further. You give 
me a quid in advance, and I’ll take twenty-seven- 
and-six.” 

Mr. Ilott looked at Mr. Braby. Mr. Braby, 
so gently that nobody could have seen it unless 
they were expecting it, nodded. 

Mr. Nipchin was storming from the shop to 
the parlour and back again to the shop twenty 
times a minute. Mrs. Nipchin was crying, quietly 


THE GAY LIFE 


38 

and comfortably, by the fire. Orris was listen- 
ing and waiting. 

At last Jilly burst in, her arms full of parcels. 

“You little varmint!” cried Mr. Nipchin, ad- 
vancing on her. “To think that any daughter 
of mine !” 

Jilly faced him squarely. 

“Father,” she said, “hold on a minute.” 

She proceeded to lay on the table a pound of 
sausages, a crusty household loaf, a piece of 
cheese, half a pound of butter, and two bottles of 
stout. In front of these she placed a theatrical 
contract signed by Mr. Braby. In front of that, 
again, she placed half a sovereign, some silver, 
and a few coppers. 

“The half thick-’un,” she observed, “is ter pay 
fer Orris gettin’ to the seaside. They’ll take ’im 
for twelve-and-six a week at the Sannytorium, I’m 
told, and that’ll be paid reg’lar by me. The grub 
is for any one as feels peckish, including me, not 
’arf! Mother, put down that apron and fetch 
out the frying-pan while I tuck Orris up for the 
night. ’E won’t ’arf ’ave nice dreams, eh, wot?” 
And she rattled upstairs. 

“Well, I am /” said Mr. Nipchin, slowly 

removing the screw-stopper from the nearest bottle. 


CHAPTER II 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 

I 

The great clock on Euston Station stood at 
ten minutes to twelve. Mr. Braby walked slowly 
and heavily along the departure platform until he 
came to the coach labelled: 

RESERVED 
for Braby and Mallett’s 
“Stricken Home” Co. 

Euston to Blackborough. 

“Morning, Mr. Braby,” said a smallish man 
who looked as if he had been up all night. His 
collar was dirty, and his chin unshaven, but he 
atoned for these deficiencies by wearing his hat 
at a jaunty angle and chewing a tooth-pick. This 
was Mr. Plam, the stage-manager. He had seven 
children, a scolding wife, no money, a bright eye, 
the smile of an angel, and a heart of gold. Mr. 
Plam loved the road. 

“All aboard?” asked Mr. Braby, in a whisper. 

“All but Nipchin,” replied Mr. Plam. 

39 


40 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Where is she?” 

“Not turned up yet, sir. Sure to be here in a 
minute. Don’t you worry, Mr. Braby, I’ll keep a 
look-out for her.” 

“If she does us in,” observed Mr. Braby, as 
though every word weighed a ton and had to be 
lifted out of him with a crane, “we’re up the 
pole.” 

Quite exhausted by this conversational effort, 
the manager clambered into the compartment re- 
served for him, sank into a corner seat with a 
thud that made the woodwork creak again, and 
relapsed into apathy. 

Mr. Plam looked again at the great clock, and 
scratched the top of his head, very daintily, with 
the tip of his little finger. The train was due to 
start in six minutes. The company began to get 
excited. Mr. Jack Titmuss, the little comedian 
with the upturned nose, who was playing Ostler 
Jim, joined the stage -manager on the platform. 
Mr. Titmuss was very smart. He wore a Trilby 
hat, a blue suit — a little shiny at the knees and 
elbows — very pointed brown boots, a red waist- 
coat, and had the end of a cigarette, long since 
extinguished, sticking to his upper lip. 

“Bit of all right if she’s gone to King’s Cross 
by mistake,” commented Mr. Titmuss. 

“She’s too smart for that,” returned Mr. 
Plam. 

“Think so?” 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 41 

“I do. Got a headpiece on her, has little Nip- 
chin. ,, 

“Come to a pinch, I might manage to double 
the nipper with Ostler Jim.” 

“And both on in the same scene? You’d be 
clever, Jack.” 

“Struth! That’s right. Fd forgot that!” 

Four minutes to twelve. Miss Eleanor Din- 
widdy, whose natural gloom was intensified by a 
bad influenza cold, regarded Mrs. Houseboy, the 
grande dame, and Miss Dulcie Link, the ingenue, 
with glazed eyes. 

“We shan’t be able to open to-morrow night,” 
she announced in a cavernous voice. “Probably 
not at all.” 

“Oh, my goodness me !” retorted Mrs. House- 
boy. “Don’t hint at such a thing, my dear! 
Three weeks’ rehearsal and then not open! It’s 
disgraceful. Something must be done ! Just keep 
your eye on my hold-all, and my bonnet, and my 
paper-bag, Dulcie, dear, and I’ll inquire into the 
matter! Not open! Oh, my goodness!” 

“Way not leave it to the men?” piped Miss 
Link. “That’s the worst of these amachoors! 
They’re always leet!” 

But Mrs. Houseboy was already at the win- 
dow, angrily demanding of an indifferent porter, 
who smelt of lamp-oil, if he realised that they 
might not be able to open at Blackborough the 
following night with “The Stricken Home.” 


4 * 


THE GAY LIFE 


Two minutes to twelve. 

“We’re done in for sure,” said Ostler Jim. 

“Not us!” retorted Mr. Plam. “I say, inspec- 
tor, have you seen a little girl, about so high, with 
a funny little face?” 

“Hat three sizes too large for her?” asked the 
inspector. 

“Very likely. Is she on the train anywhere?” 

“I dunno. But I saw a rum little cove answer- 
ing to that description knocking about the station 
over an hour ago.” 

“What did I tell you?” cried Mr. Plam. “You 
go that way, Jack ! I’ll go this !” 

They darted off, the inspector shouting after 
them that they had just one minute. The train 
was a corridor, cut into two in the middle by a 
luggage van. Mr. Plam, still on the platform, 
passed the luggage-van and raced towards the 
engine, glaring into every compartment as he 
went. Almost at the top of the train he found 
Jilly. She was seated very comfortably in a first- 
class compartment, deep in the thrilling serial of 
The Blood Budget . 

The guard had actually blown his whistle. 
Jilly found herself dragged along the platform 
at lightning speed and thrust, as the train was 
moving, into the carriage on the right side of the 
luggage-van. 

“My word!” said Mr. Plam, fanning himself 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 43 

with his hat. “That was a near shave ! Got all 
yer traps?” 

“Yes,” replied Jilly, straightening her mother’s 
best hat. “And now I’ll thank you to explain 
matters, Mr. Plam! I’m not accustomed to this 
sort of thing, and so I tell you !” 

“I should think you wasn’t! What in thunder 
were you doing in a first-class carriage?” 

“You seem to forget that I’m an actress!” 

Mr. Plam stopped puffing to stare at her. Jilly 
returned the look with infinite dignity. 

“And d’you mean to tell me,” asked the stage- 
manager, “as you thought all actresses went first- 
class?” 

“Certainly,” returned Jilly promptly. “Our 
house looks over the railway. I’ve seen Sarah 
Bernhard go by more than once, Mister Clever, 
and she was gen’rally in a saloon, filled with lovely 
flowers !” 

Mr. Plam glanced sharply at Jilly to see if she 
was pulling his leg. Deciding that she was quite 
serious in the matter, he smacked that limb as 
hard as he could, vowed that this walked off with 
the Huntley and Palmer, and led the way along 
the narrow passage to their own coach. Just be- 
fore they reached it, however, he turned and put 
his hand on Jilly’s shoulder. 

“See here, kid,” said Mr. Plam, “if I tell the 
company what you said, and where I found you, 


44 THE GAY LIFE 

they’ll chaff the life out of you. Take my tip 
and cut it out. I won’t let on.” 

‘‘Then don’t we go first?” asked Jilly, consider- 
ably dashed. 

“No,” explained Mr. Plam, “we blooming well 
do not. We go third, my dear, and if we didn’t 
stand by each other in this profesh we should 
go in a milk-van. Never heard the story of the 
actors and the fish?” 

“No,” said Jilly. 

“Well, you will! You’ll hear it every Sunday 
as long as you’re on the road. I’ve heard it every 
Sunday for twenty-five years — at least, every 
Sunday when I’ve had a shop, which isn’t all the 
year round, worse luck!” 

“Mr. Plam,” said Jilly, “when I’m a star, and 
have a theatre of me own, will you be my stage- 
manager?” 

“JiUy” said Mr. Plam just as solemnly, “I’ll 
keep the date open if I have to refuse Sherbert of 
’Is Majesty’s Theatre himself!” 


II 

The long journey northwards was full of inter- 
est for Jilly. True, she had been to Southend 
with the Sunday School, and to Herne Bay with 
the Young Women’s Christian Association, but 
this stately rumble through the Midlands knocked 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 45 

all the shine out of those trips. She was now on 
this side of the train, now on that, an enthusiasm 
greatly despised by Miss Dulcie Link, who 
wanted to tell Jilly about her boy, and her ban- 
gles, and her silk stockings. 

“Are you engeeged?” she began, seizing a mo- 
ment when the panting Jilly settled to take 
breath. 

“Not me,” replied Jilly. “Are you?” 

“Oo yes! Hevn’t you noticed may reeng?” 

“Gee! Is that real?” 

“Oo yes! May boy is quate well-off! His 
uncle’s a lord.” 

“Lord!” echoed Jilly, with great reverence. 

“Hevn’t you ever met anybody nace?” pursued 
Miss Link condescendingly. 

“Well, yes,” admitted Jilly. 

“Oo! Do tell me about heem!” 

“Well, don’t you go lettin’ on about it, mind!” 

“Oo, no! A never tell!” 

“Becos, yer see, this bloke don’t know as I 
thought such a lot of ’im. He’s a doctor!” whis- 
pered Jilly, overcome by her own daring. 

“Oo, A rather lake doctors. Is he a Harley 
Street doctor?” 

“I dunno where he lives,” said Jilly, “but he’s 
our panel-doctor, see? And he’s bin looking after 
my little brother Orris, what’s gone to a lovely 
nursing-home at the seaside. Awful bad, he’s bin, 
pore little kid, but Dr. Steele looked after ’im 


THE GAY LIFE 


46 

fustrate and saved ’is life, I reckon ! I shall look 
after ’im when I’m a star.” 

“Your brother?” 

“That goes without sayin’. But after Dr. 
Steele as well. I shall kid I’m ill, see? — and then 
’e’ll be sent for speshul, and it’ll be in all the 
pypers.” 

“Is he very nace-looking?” 

“I should say so! Tall — make two o’ me — 
an’ very straight, an’ a beautiful voice, an’ grey 
eyes that go right through yer an’ come out t’other 
side Hullo! ’Ere’s Crewe!” 

Another member of the company who con- 
trived to detain Jilly for a few minutes — and 
those few minutes had a very important effect 
on her career — was Mr. Stanley Garland, the 
leading man. He was a cadaverous individual, 
with a beak-shaped nose and a rolling voice. He 
had been striving for this interview, in an unos- 
tentatious way, ever since the train left Euston, 
and at last secured it in the corridor. 

“And so,” began Mr. Garland, “to-morrow 
evening is to witness your debut upon the stage, 
Miss Nipchin.” 

“What’s that?” asked Jilly. 

“Your debut? Your commencement of a ca- 
reer that will, I trust, be crowned with great 
success.” 

“Thanks,” said Jilly, and meant it. 

“One never knows,” went on the leading man. 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 47 

“You might be one of the few lucky ones, Miss 
Nipchin. You might be. There’s no telling. I 
have been in the profession long enough to wit- 
ness some very extraordinary successes — very ex- 
traordinary indeed. And comparative failures 
just as extraordinary. May I give you a word 
of advice?” 

“I should say so,” responded Jilly. 

“At present, Miss Nipchin — forgive my frank- 
ness — you have one great fault, very usual in be- 
ginners. You have a tendency to over-act. Don’t 
be offended ! I’m only saying this for your good. 
Take, for example, your scene with me in the 
fourth act — your most important scene. That 
cartwheel — very bad! Oh, very bad indeed!” 

“Mr. Plam told me to do it. He said it was 
fine!” 

Mr. Stanley Garland lowered his voice: 

“My dear Miss Nipchin, Plam is a very good 
man in his place, and a dear fellow. I’m tremen- 
dously fond of Plam. Dear old Plam, bless his 
heart ! But his weakness is that he knows nothing 
of acting — nothing at all. Believe me, that cart- 
wheel will do you any amount of harm with audi- 
ences. They won’t like it. Cut it out!’* 

“But won’t Mr. Plam be cross?” 

“The chances are he won’t know. He’s too 
busy to watch the stage all the evening. He’s 
got to work the rain-box, and ring the bells, and 
bark for dear old Pompey. If he does happen 


THE GAY LIFE 


to notice, tell him you’ve strained your back at 
rehearsal. But cut it out, my dear Miss Nipchin ! 
I’m talking to you as a friend — you might almost 
say as a father! Cut it out!” 

“Right O !” said Jilly. But she was sorry, be- 
cause she loved turning a cartwheel, and Mr. 
Plam, and Jack Titmuss, and even the melancholy 
Miss Dinwiddy had praised it. 

“Then there’s another thing,” added the lead- 
ing man. “You whistle on your fingers. Cut it 
out.” 

“Mr. Plam told me to do that as well.” 

“Oh, come, come! If you’re going to throw 
Mr. Plam in my face every time! Perhaps I’d 
better say no more, but when the governor gives 
you your notice on Saturday, don’t say ” 

“Oh, I didn’t mean no harm,” protested Jilly. 
“I won’t mention Mr. Plam again! If I was to 
get my notice, Orris couldn’t stay in the ’Ome!” 

“Profit by my years of experience, and you 
won’t get your notice. Play your part very qui- 
etly, Miss Nipchin. Keep as much as possible at 
the back of the stage, and let me pull you 
through. I’m a very great favourite at Black- 
borough, and if you interfere with my speeches 
the people won’t like it. They’ll be very angry, 
and they’ll give you the bird. I know them. 
Keep it all down, cut out the whistle, and the cart- 
wheel, and the smile, and I’ll pull you through!” 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 49 

He held out his hand, and Jilly grasped it in 
sincere gratitude. 


in 

Miss Eleanor Dinwiddy heaved a deep, deep 
sigh. Then she groaned a little. After that, she 
heaved another terrific sigh. 

Jilly, who was sharing a double combined-room 
with the melancholy one, sat up in bed. It was 
about eight o’clock on the morning after the jour- 
ney from London. 

“What’s the matter, old dear?” she asked. 
“Feeling worse?” 

“Yes, dear, much worse,” replied Miss Din- 
widdy, her deep voice sounding deeper yet from 
under the bed-clothes. 

“Gee ! Shan’t you be able to get down to re- 
hearsal?” 

“No, dear, no rehearsal. You must explain to 
Plam for me.” 

“But what about to-night?” 

“I must struggle through as best I can, dear.” 

“Will you know yer lines?” 

“I don’t know, dear. Probably not.” 

Seeing that Miss Dinwiddy had played the 
part of Lady Di in various companies some three 
hundred times, there was room for hope. 

“Pore ole thing! I’ll call out for some tea, 
shall I?” 


50 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Please do, dear.” 

Jilly wrapped her ulster about her, and went 
to the head of the stairs. 

“Ma!” she called, feeling very professional. 
No answer. “Ma! Are you there, Mrs. 
Roberts?” 

“What’s oop?” screamed a cross voice from 
the basement. 

“My friend’s feeling very poorly, and would 
like some tea !” 

No answer. 

“Can you make some, please?” 

No answer. 

“Can you make some tea, if you please?” 

“When kettle boils and not afore!” shouted 
Mrs. Roberts. 

Jilly thought of an excellent retort, but swal- 
lowed it, and returned to the room to dress. 
There was a word-rehearsal at eleven; she was 
ready long before that, however, and fussed over 
Miss Dinwiddy, who thanked her in sepulchral 
tones. At half-past ten, Jilly tucked her up 
snugly, told her to keep up her courage, and set 
off for the Theatre Royal. 

The rehearsal passed off quite smoothly, and 
Jilly, before returning to her lodging, stopped at 
the stage-door to ask for letters; there was a 
postcard from Horace, with a picture of the 
Nursing Home on the back, and a boyish scrawl 
on the front. That was all. 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 51 

“Anything for Miss Eleanor Dinwiddy?” she 
asked. “If there is, I’ll take it. I’m living with 
her.” 

At the mention of this name, a slim, clean- 
shaven young man, who had attracted Jilly’s at- 
tention by the “swell cut” of his clothes, his good 
looks, and the pleasantness of his expression, left 
off lounging against the wall and raised his hat. 

“Excuse me,” he said, “but I’m an old friend 
of Miss Dinwiddy’s. I’m showing at the Hippo- 
drome here this week, and, seeing Miss Din- 
widdy’s name on the bills, I just called round to 
say how-do. Is she inside, would you mind telling 
me?” 

Jilly at once scented romance. This filled her 
with joy. Miss Dinwiddy was so handsome, and 
so stately, and so much “the lady” that Jilly had 
long felt convinced she had a lover who was un- 
kind to her. Which would account for the settled 
melancholy of her disposition. 

“No,” she replied, fixing the slim young man 
with a stare that was meant to be very reproving. 
“She’s not at all well.” 

“I’m very sorry to hear that. Nothing seri- 
ous, I hope?” 

“I don’t know,” said Jilly, shaking her head. 
“You’d better come back with me and I’ll ask her 
if she cares to see you.” 

“I shall be delighted,” replied the slim young 
man, and away they went. 


52 


THE GAY LIFE 


“What’s your name?” asked Jilly, as they 
walked along. 

“There it is,” said the slim young man, stop- 
ping in front of a poster, and pointing with his 
stick. This is what Jilly read: 

ED CHAUNCEY 

THE GREATEST EQUILIBRIST IN THE 
WORLD 

IN STARTLING ACTS!!! 

“My word! You must be a swell!” 

The slim young man laughed. 

“What’s that long word mean?” 

“I’ll show you in a minute.” 

They soon came to another hoarding, and Mr. 
Ed Chauncey pointed, with a touch of natural 
pride, to a coloured poster. 

“That’s my act,” he said modestly. 

Jilly stared in wonderment. She saw a large 
wooden table; on that a smaller table; on that a 
smaller table; on that a very small table; on the 
very small table a chair; on the back of the chair 
another chair, legs in air; and at last, poised by 
one hand on one leg of the topmost chair, with 
his feet close to the summit of the hoarding, was 
Mr. Ed Chauncey! 

“Is that you?” asked Jilly, no longer wonder- 
ing that Miss Dinwiddy sighed and groaned so 
much. 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 53 

“That’s me,” admitted the slim young man. 

“Then come quick!” commanded Jilly, seizing 
this paragon by the coat-sleeve and hurrying him 
off before some Blackborough young woman 
could snap him up. 

The front door of Mrs. Roberts’s residence 
stood open, and a handcart waited in the gutter. 
They passed into the passage, and were met by a 
strong smell of soot. The girls’ room was on the 
ground floor at the back, and the door of that was 
also open. 

“Wait here,” said Jilly, and went into the 
room. She had no sooner entered than she nearly 
fainted with astonishment. The room was in 
chaos; furniture shoved aside, tables and chairs 
covered with dust-sheets, and both beds piled with 
small articles. To complete the picture, a grimy 
man was kneeling in the fireplace with his head 
up the chimney! 

Jilly seized the sweep by the coat-tails. With- 
drawing his head from the chimney, he gazed at 
her with eyes that looked ghastly in their setting 
of soot. 

“Where’s my friend?” demanded Jilly. 

“In bed,” replied the sweep, with a jerk of the 
head. 

“What?” Jilly dashed across the room. 
“Nelly! What have they done to you? Are 
you there?” 


54 THE GAY LIFE 

“Yes, dear,” said a muffled, resigned voice. 
“Here I am.” 

Jilly hurried into the passage. “Mr. Ed 
Something,” she gasped, her eyes flashing and her 
little frame all taut with anger, “you looked a 
strong man in that picture! Come and chuck 
this blighter out! He’s suffocating your Nelly!” 

Without a moment’s hesitation, Mr. Ed Chaun- 
cey, the Greatest Equilibrist in the World, swung 
into the room, caught up the sweep by the seat 
of his trousers and the collar of his coat, and ran 
him into the street. His broom followed and the 
door was shut and fastened. Mrs. Roberts, hear- 
ing the noise, came up the kitchen-stairs two at a 
time. 

“What’s t’meaning o’ this?” she shouted. 

“Meaning of it?” answered Ed, very alert but 
quite cool and happy. “I’ll tell you the meaning 
of it! It means that these ladies have been in- 
sulted! It means that they’re going to clear out 
of this pig-sty this very day, and the V. A. F. — 
which means Variety Artistes’ Federation, in case 
you never heard of it — are going to have your 
name on their Black List if you say one word or 
charge one penny! I’ve heard something of this 
bullying of girls in the profession that don’t hap- 
pen to have a man around to look after them, 
and now I’ve seen it for myself. Miss Din- 
widdy,” he called through the doorway, “I ask 
your pardon for coming into your room without 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 55 

knocking on the door. There are some fine rooms 
vacant at Number Eight, Longbridge Road, and 
I’m going right along there this moment to take 
’em ! I’ll be back in ten minutes with a cab, and 
I mean to stay here and see you and your friend 
out!” 

And away he went. 

“I’m sure, miss ” began the frightened 

Mrs. Roberts. 

But Jilly stopped her with an imperious hand 
that pointed to the basement stairs. 

“Remember the V. A. F. !” she cried in a deep 
voice. 

Mrs. Roberts withdrew. 


IV 

At six-thirty, Miss Eleanor Dinwiddy and Miss 
Jilly Nipchin, London artistes, went down to the 
Theatre Royal. Miss Dinwiddy announced that 
she was a complete wreck. She was muffled to the 
eyes and walked with a tottering step. 

Jilly was quite concerned about her, and said 
as much to Mr. Plam, encountered on the stairs. 

“Don’t you worry your head about that,” said 
Mr. Plam. “Wait till she gets her cue. She’ll 
be on that stage like a two-year-old — head up, 
eyes bright, step firm, voice as clear as a bell! 
Bless yer heart, I know ’em!” 


THE GAY LIFE 


56 

“I suppose,” retorted the faithful Jilly, “you 
think she’s shoving on side !” 

“Not a bit of it! Feels a bit chippy, no doubt. 
But you wait till she gets her feet in the sawdust, 
and see if I’m not right! Look here, kid, I’ll 
tell yer something. D’you know why women in 
the profession stay young all their lives? Look 
at Ellen Terry! Look at Sally Bernhard! Look 
at Ma Kendal! Well, I’ll tell yer! It’s the saw- 
dust ! There’s magic in it. Keep their feet in the 
sawdust and they can’t get old, much less die! 
How d’ye feel yerself? Bit nervous?” 

“Not a bit,” said Jilly. 

“That’s nothing to boast about. The young 
’uns never are nervous. You wait. Look at my 
hand! That’s not drink — that’s nerves. And 
I’ve been on the boards all me life! Well, good 
luck, kid! Buck into it an’ you’ll make good all 
right.” 

Jilly went on up to the dressing-room which 
she shared with Mrs. Houseboy. 

“Well, dear,” asked that lady, “have you got 
nice rooms?” 

“Real swell,” replied Jilly. “Eight, Long- 
bridge Road — Mrs. Pattison.” 

“Oh, yes, I know those rooms. I used to stay 
there with me husband when he was alive. I can’t 
afford them now. But I suppose Dinwiddy gets a 
good salary, eh?” 

“Dunno what she gets.” 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 57 

‘‘Well, all I can say is, those are the most ex- 
pensive professional rooms in Blackborough. My 
word, how poor George did used to use lang- 
widge when he got the bill!” 

“Feeling nervous?” asked Jilly, slipping quickly 
into her ragged shirt and knickers, and smearing 
some dirty marks on her face. 

“Nervous isn’t the word, dear! I’m always 
the same on a Monday! You never know how 
they’ll take you! Look at me hands!” 

“Never mind,” said Jilly. “You’ll be all right 
when you get your feet in the sawdust.” 

She slipped down to the stage. It was quite 
deserted save for the local call-boy, who had 
stretched himself full length on the hired sofa that 
helped to furnish the first scene, and was deep in 
the Gory Gazette. He glanced indifferently at 
Jilly, and then went on with his reading. 

A buzz of conversation came from the audi- 
torium. Jilly found a little peep-hole in the cur- 
tain and expected to see a massed audience. To 
her surprise and disappointment, there were about 
twelve people in the pit and six in the gallery. 

“What’s it like?” asked the call-boy. 

“Rotten,” said Jilly. 

“You won’t do no good ’ere.” 

“Thanks,” said Jilly. “Can you do a cart- 
wheel?” she added. 

“No,” replied the call-boy. “Nor you.” 

“Can’t I ?” retorted Jilly. And she turned one. 


58 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Doing that in the show?” asked the call-boy, 
trying manfully to conceal his admiration. 

“Not me,” said Jilly. “I plays the part very 
quiet.” 

“More fool you,” retorted the call-boy. “That 
won’t knock ’em.” 

But Jilly was determined to follow the earnest 
advice of Mr. Stanley Garland, who had spoken 
to her as a friend, almost as a father. 

And now they all began to assemble on the 
stage. Mr. Stanley Garland in riding-breeches 
that hung over at the knees a little, and a mous- 
tache that ran to a sharp point at both ends; Mrs. 
Houseboy, in black silk, with the complexion of a 
girl of eighteen; Miss Dulcie Link in a short 
frock, openwork stockings, very black eyelashes, 
and very golden hair; Miss Dinwiddy with a radi- 
ant expression and a firm step; Mr. Plam in his 
own trousers and a very aged dress-coat, thus 
representing the family butler; and Mr. Jack Tit- 
muss in breeches and gaiters, shirt-sleeves rolled 
up, straw in mouth, and a red tip to his nose to 
inform the audience at once that he intended to be 
extremely amusing. 

The orchestra finished the overture with a 
crash! Mr. Plam called, “Clear, please!” and 
ran to his corner! Mrs. Houseboy puckered her 
lips into a roguish smile ! Up went the curtain I 

As the play proceeded, Jilly began to have an 
uneasy feeling that all was not well. The audi- 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 59 

ence were not rising to it. As each person came 
off, she heard such expressions as “Rotten lot in 
front!” “Dead as mutton!” “Never played to 
such a house!” Jack Titmuss was the sole fa- 
vourite, and even he, despite the straw and the 
red nose, had one or two unfriendly remarks ad- 
dressed to him from the gallery. 

Mr. Stanley Garland, that huge favourite, was 
received and dismissed in silence. Somebody 
called Mrs. Houseboy a “puss,” and somebody 
else mimicked the affectations of Miss Dulcie 
Link. 

As for Jilly herself, they simply tolerated her — 
that was all. Her best lines — the lines that she 
had been assured were “safe as houses,” seemed 
to hit the house like icicles. To make matters 
a little more cheerful, Mr. Braby came round at 
the end of the play and sacked the lot. 

Miss Dinwiddy and Jilly walked back to their 
rooms in a very dejected mood. 

“Is it raining?” asked Jilly, just as they 
emerged from the stage-door. 

“Yes, dear,” chanted Miss Dinwiddy. “It gen- 
erally rains in Blackborough.” 

They went on. Presently Jilly said : 

“How did you think it went?” 

“Rotten, dear. Nothing could have been 
worse. We’ve all got our notices.” 

“Does that mean we shall finish next week?” 


6o 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Yes, dear — if not this.” Here Miss Din- 
widdy touched the lowest note in her register. 

Just' as they sat down to supper, there came a 
smart tap on the door and Mr. Ed Chauncey 
walked in. 

“Well, girls,” he asked brightly, “how did the 
show go?” 

Miss Dinwiddy repeated the mournful story. 

“That’s all right,” returned Ed, fishing some 
parcels from the pocket of his big coat. “I’m go- 
ing to invite myself to supper, if I may. Here’s a 
pork-pie, and a cucumber, and some ham, and a 
bottle of whisky. Get hold of the vinegar, Miss 
Jilly, and see if you can make a salad. Miss Din- 
widdy, what you want for that cold is a good 
stiff glass of grog. Here you are! Off with it. 
Never go by a Monday night in Blackborough. 
We went rotten at the Hip. I’m coming to the 
matinee on Wednesday, and you’ll see what a 
hand you’ll get! Feeling better, Miss Dinwiddy? 
I thought as much. Tried the piano yet? Well, 
we’ll hit her up some after supper for sure! 
Here’s to ‘The Stricken Home’ and a bumper 
house by Saturday!” 

Miss Dinwiddy smiled — for the first time that 
day. As for Jilly, she ran round the table, gave 
Mr. Ed Chauncey a sounding kiss, which he re- 
turned just as heartily, and then they all fell upon 
the pork-pie and the ham and the salad like the 
good Bohemians they were, bless ’em! 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 6 1 


y 

The next night the play went a little better, but 
not Jilly. Some of the company began to avoid 
her eye, Mr. Braby called her a little fool, and 
even Mr. Plam seemed disappointed. They saw 
nothing of Ed Chauncey on Tuesday night, and 
Jilly, thinking of her blighted hopes and the 
effect on Orris’s fortunes, cried herself to sleep. 

Ed Chauncey was in front at the matinee on the 
Wednesday and came round to the girls’ rooms 
immediately afterwards. 

“Come here,” he said to Jilly. “Let me talk to 
the kid. What’s the matter with you? You 
played the part as if you were going to a funeral !” 

Poor Jilly burst into tears. Ed put his arm 
about her, and tried to console her. 

“But why don’t you buck into it?” he per- 
sisted. “You were full of fun here on Monday 
night! The part’s all right! It’s a fine chance! 
Why don’t you put more snuff into it?” 

“Mr. G-Garland — told me to — to play it that 
way!” sobbed Jilly. 

“Damn Mr. Garland! He’s not your boss! 
Can’t you see that he wanted all the fat for him- 
self? You take my tip ! Go down to the theatre 
to-night, don’t say a word to anybody, and put in 
all you know. You’ve got it in you — let it come 
out ! Mr. Garland, forsooth ! Play that crock off 
the stage, kid!” 


62 


THE GAY LIFE 

Jilly decided to take this advice. After all, 
the leading man couldn’t kill her, and, if he did, 
it was all for Orris. So she set her little teeth — 
and very nice teeth they were — and went down 
to the theatre for the evening show full of devil- 
ment. 

A roar of laughter greeted her first entrance. 
Mr. Garland, amazed beyond measure, turned to 
find her walking towards him on her hands ! 

“Stop that!” he hissed, and then delivered his 
line — “Tell me, my boy, are you an orphan?” 

The correct reply was, “Yes, sir.” Jilly stuck 
her hands into the pockets of her breeches, 
planted her feet well apart, and said, in a very 
fair imitation of Mr. Garland’s rolling voice: 

“Yes, sir, Hi ham!” 

Another roar of laughter. Mr. Braby, who 
was moodily discussing the decline of “legitimate” 
theatrical business in the provinces with the local 
manager, and trying to mend matters with a stiff 
whisky and soda, suddenly pricked up his ears. 
What on earth were they laughing at? There 
were never any big laughs in the first act — merely 
a few titters at Ostler Jim. 

With the local manager at his heels, he made 
his way to the back of the circle. He was just 
in time to see Jilly turn a lovely cartwheel, which 
she rounded off with a few steps of defiance at 
Mr. Garland, a shrill whistle on her fingers, and 
a second cartwheel into the wings. It was not 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 63 

“legitimate”; it was not good Art; but, if it went 
on, it looked like saving a third-rate and dead- 
beat provincial company from ruin, and both Mr. 
Braby and the local manager knew it. 

Jilly was in her dressing-room, revelling in the 
congratulations of the more generous-hearted of 
the company, when there came a loud thump on 
the door with a walking-stick. 

“It’s Garland!” cried Jilly. “He’s furious! 
He’s come to kill me!” 

“Then it’ll be over my body,” declared Mr. 
Jack Titmuss, throwing himself into a pugilistic 
attitude. 

A second mighty thump, and the door opened, 
revealing Mr. Braby himself. His hat was at 
the back of his head, and a small bonfire that had 
once been a cigar smouldered in his left hand. 

“Nipchin,” commanded Mr. Braby. 

Jilly stepped forward. After all, she had al- 
ready been sacked. He was bound to pay her a 
week’s money. She didn’t care ! For all that, 
her knees trembled a little as she faced the man- 
ager. 

“Keep it in,” said Mr. Braby. Then he turned 
heavily about and went down the stairs. On the 
first landing he was intercepted by the leading 
man. 

“May I speak to you a moment, Mr. Braby?” 

The manager followed him into the dressing- 
room. 


6 4 


THE GAY LIFE 

“I am sorry,” began Mr. Garland, “to have 
to complain of any member of the company, but 
my scene in the first act was utterly queered by 
Miss Nipchin. I don’t know whether you hap- 
pened to be in front?” 

Mr. Braby nodded. 

“Oh, that’s very fortunate. Then you saw, of 
course, the extraordinary way in which she was 
behaving?” 

Mr. Braby nodded. 

“And no doubt you were as annoyed as my- 
self?” 

Mr. Braby shook his head. 

“You were not annoyed?” 

Again Mr. Braby shook his head. 

“Am I to understand, then, that Miss Nip- 
chin is to be encouraged to continue these pre- 
posterous capers?” 

Mr. Braby nodded. Garland drew himself 
to his full height, oblivious of the fact that he had 
removed his riding-breeches and was still in his 
pants. 

“Mr. Braby, I have been on the stage, as you 
may be aware, for five-and-twenty years. I have 
played Hamlet, Othello, Macbeth, the Silver King, 
and many other parts of equal calibre. I have 
been favourably compared in the press with Mac- 
ready, Phelps, Irving, Wilson Barrett, and other 
leading lights of our stage. In short, sir, I am an 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 65 

artist, and I must insist that I shall not be sub- 
jected to ” 

“Cut it out,” said Mr. Braby, unconsciously 
quoting Mr. Garland’s own advice to Jilly. And 
he turned his huge back on the leading man. 

“Then am I to understand,” continued Mr. 
Garland, following the manager to the door and 
calling after him down the stairs, “that this tom- 
foolery is to continue?” 

“Yes,” came back the voice of Mr. Braby from 
round the corner. 

“By heaven !” cried the leading man, gnashing 
his teeth in front of his broken mirror to note the 
effect, “but he shall have my resignation before I 
sleep this night!” 

Fired by the managerial blessing and the 
praises of her friends in the company, Jilly went 
at it with a will all the evening. Mr. Garland 
sulked more and more, but that did not matter. 
The audience had taken to the quaint figure in the 
tattered breeches and the old shirt, and Jilly 
worked off upon them all the tricks with which 
she had been wont to amuse Orris and the home- 
circle. 

She really had a great gift for mimicry, and 
not a soul in the company was spared. Miss Din- 
widdy’s majestic poses and deep tones, Ostler 
Jim’s funny strut and sharp voice, Mrs. House- 
boy’s roguish smile and youthful capers, Miss Dul- 
cie Link’s affectations and ultra-refined accent, 


66 


THE GAY LIFE 


even Mr. Plam’s stiff-legged butler — Jilly had 
them all ticked off to a nicety! Mr. Plam de- 
clared that, despite the small house, the piece had 
never gone so well since he had known it, and 
Mr. Jack Titmuss prophesied all sorts of glorious 
successes for Jilly in the future, including a double 
turn with himself at the Mile End Hippodrome. 

In a provincial town, a play is made or marred 
by word of mouth. The Wednesday night au- 
dience carried laughing faces into the street, and 
into the public-houses, and into their homes. On 
Thursday night, when Jilly and Miss Dinwiddy 
came down to the theatre, there were already 
small queues at the doors of the pit and gallery. 
This is a never-failing barometer. By Friday 
night Mr. Braby had re-engaged all the company, 
and on Saturday night, after going into the stalls 
to feast his eyes on a packed house — the most 
beautiful sight in the world for a theatrical man- 
ager — he found his way to the local manager’s 
office, called for a bottle of cheap champagne, and 
assured that gentleman that all the talk in the 
papers about bad business in the provinces, and 
the extinction of the theatre by the music-halls 
and the picture houses, was so much “Thomas 
Rot.” 

As for Jilly, there was bitterness in her cup. 
She suddenly remembered that, out of her weekly 
salary of twenty-seven and six, she had drawn a 


COLD HAM AND CARTWHEELS 67 

sovereign in advance. And her share of the bill 
at the lodgings came to nineteen shillings and 
threepence-halfpenny ! 

She pattered home rather silently by the side 
of the tall Miss Dinwiddy. The supper was laid 
as usual; on each plate, however, was a small 
package. 

“Mr. Chauncey left them,” said Mrs. Pattison. 
“He wouldn’t wait.” 

Jilly opened her package. For all her mone- 
tary troubles she was filled with pleased curiosity. 
Presents were a great rarity. 

It was a leather purse with a silver clasp. 
“How kind!” cried Jilly, turning it over and 
over and sniffing at the leather. 

Then she opened it, just to count the pockets, 
and came across something hard in a wisp of pa- 
per. The “something hard” was a sovereign, 
and on the wisp of paper was written, “For the 
kid who made good.” 

Jilly looked up and met the eyes of her friend. 
Miss Dinwiddy was actually smiling. 

“Wot’s yours?” asked Jilly, half laughing and 
half crying. 

Miss Dinwiddy displayed, with as much indif- 
ference as she could contrive, a small photograph 
in a silver frame. 

“It’s exactly like him!” breathed Jilly. “Oh, 
Nelly, hasn’t he got lovely eyes!” 


68 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Has he?” replied Miss Dinwiddy. 

“You know he has ! He’s not a bit like a equili- 
berrist ! He might be anything — even a — a panel- 
doctor. There! Now I’ve said it I” 


CHAPTER III 


TAKING THE KNOCK 

I 

“Is Miss Dinwiddy in?” 

“No, my dear. She went out to do some shop- 
ping. Told me to say as she’d be back in half an 
hour.” 

Jilly ran upstairs — her legs trembled so with 
excitement that she would have tumbled had she 
tried to walk — locked the door of the bedroom, 
and drew a letter from her little satchel. 

“Miss Nipchin, 

Theatre Royal, 
Ilkhampton.” 

“What lovely writing!” said Jilly. “How 
lovely it looks! ‘Miss Nipchin, Theatre Royal’! 
Oh, I’m glad I’m an actress!” 

She had been an actress a little over three 
weeks. Thanks to her eccentricities at Blackbor- 
ough, “The Stricken Home” was still on the road. 
Alas, it could not be said to be “running.” Owing 
69 


7 o THE GAY LIFE 

to a coal strike, it did not even walk. It stag- 
gered along. Still, Jilly had received three weeks’ 
money, Horace was at the home by the sea, and 
here was a letter from the beautiful panel-doc- 
tor. 

“Dear Miss Nipchin.” 

“That’s me !” Jilly told the looking-glass, and 
the shabby furniture, and the chimney pots of 
Ilkhampton. “I’m dear Miss Nipchin! Miss 
Nipchin, of the Theatre Royal! Wot ho!” 

She would have turned a cartwheel for sheer 
pride and joy, but there was no room for that. 
So she did a few “steps” instead, and then went on 
with the letter. 

“Your postal order for twelve-and-six safely to 
hand. I will send it on to the Home at once. 
You will, I know, be pleased to hear that your 
little brother is picking up splendidly ” 

Here Jilly kissed the letter, wiped her eyes on 
the sleeve of her jacket, called herself a silly little 
fool, and then continued : 

“thanks to the sea-air and good food. I am very 
glad to hear of your success, and hope it may long 
continue. I will convey the good news of your 
brother to Mr. and Mrs. Nipchin. Kindest re- 
gards. 

“Yours sincerely, 

“Ernest Steele.” 


TAKING THE KNOCK 


71 

“His name’s Ernest,” observed Jilly to the 
chimney-pots. “Ernest! I do like the name of 
Ernest ! I think it’s the loveliest name for a man 
there ever could be! Ernest! And” — here she 
dropped her voice to a whisper — “he’s mine sin- 
cerely! Of course that don’t mean anything, 
silly! All the same, there it is, written down! 
And I suppose I can think what I like ! It’s a 
free country, I believe?” 

The bedroom was too small to hold Jilly after 
reading her letter. She flew downstairs again, 
and went in search of Miss Dinwiddy, who was 
discovered gloomily buying some excellent toma- 
toes. 

“What’s your favourite name for a man?” 
asked Jilly, as they carried the tomatoes home- 
wards. 

“I don’t know, dear,” Miss Dinwiddy re- 
sponded in deep, despairing tones. “You can’t 
go by names. Some of the worst villains in the 
world have beautiful names.” 

“Did you ever hear of a man called Ernest be- 
ing a villain?” retorted Jilly. 

“No, dear, I don’t think so. But there must 
be many Ernests who are villains.” 

“I suppose you think all men are villains except 
your marvellous Mr. Ed Chauncey, the World- 
Famous Equilibberist !” 

“Yes, dear, nearly all!” 


72 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Well, I know another who isn’t, and his 
name’s Ernest, and he’s mine sincerely!” 

Out came the letter, and Miss Dinwiddy was 
compelled to read it as she walked along, to the 
frightful peril of the Ilkhampton infants. 

But an even greater excitement was in store for 
Jilly that very week. The performance was just 
over on the Thursday night, and she had dashed 
up to her dressing-room, leaving Mrs. Houseboy 
panting on the first flight, when her name was 
bawled from below by the keeper of the stage- 
door. 

“Miss Nipchin, please !” 

“Hullo!” Jilly screamed back. 

“A gen’lemun ter see you, miss!” 

“A wot?” yelled Jilly. 

“A gen’lemun!” 

Jilly shot past Mrs. Houseboy once again, 
much to the terror and indignation of that cele- 
brated grande dame, and almost butted the keeper 
of the stage-door down the stone steps into the 
property-room. 

“A gentleman, did you say?” 

“Yes, miss. ’E was sorry ’e ’adn’t got a card. 
Name of Steele.” 

Jilly suddenly felt rather ill. She could not 
breathe for a moment. For three nights she had 
dreamt of Ernest, who was hers sincerely, clasp- 
ing his letter in her hand. That letter had at- 
tended every performance of “The Stricken 


TAKING THE KNOCK 73 

Home” given in Ilkhampton. It had been to the 
Castle, and round the shops, and on the tops of 
the tram-cars. And now, wonder of wonders, 
the writer of the letter was here in the flesh, ask- 
ing for her! 

Then an awful thought smote her. Horace 

was very ill! Horace was ! She swept past 

the stage-door keeper, and, just as she was, in 
the dress of the ragged urchin, confronted the 
panel-doctor. 

“Is it Orris?” she gasped. 

“Oh, how do you do?” replied the startled 
doctor. Knowing little of provincial theatres, he 
had expected to be escorted into a sumptuous 
green-room. 

“Is it Orris?” repeated Jilly, her hands tightly 
clasped. 

“Your brother? Oh, no! He’s going on cap- 
itally! Didn’t you get my letter?” 

The small face flushed beneath the smears of 
grease paint. 

“Yes, sir, thank you,” stammered Jilly. 

“That’s right. As it happens, I have an aunt 
living in Ilkhampton, and I had to run up and 
see her on business. I noticed your name on the 
bills, and came to see the piece this evening.” 

Jilly suddenly remembered her costume. She 
had not even stayed to put on a wrap. Her feet 
were bare, and — and — What must he be think- 
ing of her? 


74 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Oh,” she said. “It was kind of you to call, 
doctor.” 

“Not at all. I can’t honestly say much for the 
play, but I thought your performance wonderfully 
bright and jolly!” 

“Not at all,” returned Jilly politely. 

“I had no idea that Mrs. Nipchin had so tal- 
ented a daughter.” 

“Not at all,” repeated Jilly, and backed away. 
She would have given half her week’s salary for 
a sack or an old tablecloth. 

“I shall certainly report your triumph in York 
Lane.” 

“Not at all,” muttered Jilly, half through the 
double swing-doors. 

“But I mustn’t keep you standing in this 
draught, Miss Nipchin.” 

“Not at all,” Jilly assured him, and made a 
fair bolt for it. 

When she had undressed that night, and opened 
her little satchel to take out the precious letter, 
without which it was impossible to snatch a wink 
of sleep, she uttered a scream that effectually 
roused Miss Dinwiddy for her first dream. 

“What is it, dear?” asked the cavernous voice. 

“My letter! It’s not here! It’s gone!” 

“Are you sure, dear?” 

“Yes, quite sure! It’s gone! Somebody’s 
pinched it!” 

“But who would take it?” 


TAKING THE KNOCK 


75 

“I dunno! All I know is it’s gone! And it 
said as ’e was mine sincerely! Oh! oh! oh!” 

She blew out the candle and crept into bed. 
For at least five minutes, Miss Dinwiddy could 
hear muffled sobs from beneath the bed-clothes. 
Then they ceased, and in their stead came a gentle, 
regular breathing. Jilly was riding down the 
Strand in a beautiful motor-car, and Ernest, hers 
sincerely, was politely taking off his hat to the 
Queen. 


II 

Yes, business was very bad at Ilkhampton. 
The sulky miners had spent most of their strike- 
money, and preferred to keep the remainder for 
the public-houses. They could discuss their griev- 
ances in the public-houses, so the theatre saw noth- 
ing of them, or of their wives and daughters. 

There was no “treasury” on Friday night. On 
Saturday night, the company were told to col- 
lect on the stage after the fall of the curtain. 

“Yuss!” observed Mr. Jack Titmuss, the little 
comedian with the upturned nose. “That smells 
ter me like a couple o’ buckets o’ soft sawder in 
lieu of salary. I’ve ’ad some, thanks muchly.” 

“Oh, dear! Oh, dear!” moaned Mrs. House- 
boy. “This is the third failure I’ve been in this 
year! Upon my word, what can the profession 


7 6 THE GAY LIFE 

be coming to? When Mr. Houseboy was 
alive ” 

“Speaking for self,” was Mr. Plam’s comment, 
“I’m willing to vote for anything except a return 
to home and beauty. I’m not saying a word 
against my old woman, mind ! Not a word 1 The. 
trouble is that she’s too good for me be half. 
Whenever she tells me so — which is the moment 
I put me nose around the door until the moment 
me coat-tails disappear again — I agree with ’er. 
‘Ethel,’ I say, ‘you’re quite right. I sully the 
home ! I’m best out of it, earning money for you 
and the kids!’ ” 

Mr. Titmuss had smelt more or less correctly. 
The curtain having fallen, and the small audience 
dispersed, Mr. Braby appeared on the stage and 
faced his little flock. 

“Boys an’ gels,” said Mr. Braby, “nothin’ 
doin’.” 

Quite exhausted by this oratorical effort, he 
looked about him for a chair, which Mr. Plam 
at once supplied. 

“And what,” asked Mr. Stanley Garland, the 
leading man, constituting himself the spokesman 
of the company, “are we to understand by that, 
Mr. Braby? What do you propose?” 

Mr. Braby took a deep breath. 

“ ’Arf an’ stop. Nothin’ and go on.” 

A murmur of dismay ran through the little 
company. They had to meet the bills at their 


TAKING THE KNOCK 


77 

lodgings, and their salaries were not so huge that 
much could be saved out of them. Mrs. House- 
boy began to cry, and tried to avail herself of 
the nearest shoulder, which happened to be Dulcie 
Link’s. On Miss Link wriggling indignantly 
away, Jilly took her place, and the old lady wa- 
tered the shirt of the “urchin” with her tears 
throughout the remainder of the proceedings. 

“Wot’s the good o’ goin’ on fer nothing?” de- 
manded Jack Titmuss truculently. “We can’t live 
on air, can we? Anyway, I can’t, let alone having 
ter send ’ome ’alf of me salary when I do get it! 
The thing’s a plant, that’s wot it is !” 

Mr. Garland held up a distinguished hand for 
silence. 

“Do I understand, Mr. Braby, that we shall 
all be paid in full next week if we consent to 
wait?” 

Braby nodded. 

“Well, ladies and gentlemen,” continued Gar- 
land, “that seems to me a fair proposal. We 
know that business has been very bad this week 
on account of the strike. Next week we shall be 
at Longbridge, which is not affected by the strike. 
We have Mr. Braby’s word that we shall then 
be paid in full. If we refuse this offer, the tour 
will end, and we shall all be out of a shop. I 
suggest that the offer be accepted. Will those in 
favour hold up their hands?” 


78 


THE GAY LIFE 


He omitted to add that he himself, alone of 
all the company, had been already paid in full. 

One by one, their hands went up. The pawn- 
shop was still open, and those who had nothing 
to pawn hoped to borrow from those who had. 
Mr. Braby at once left the theatre, and Mr. Plam 
reminded the company that the train-call was for 
eleven sharp next morning. 

Poor Jilly had nothing to pawn and no money, 
but Miss Dinwiddy was able to settle the bill at 
the lodgings. The others managed somehow. 
At any rate, they were all on the station by ten- 
thirty, and took their places in the compartments 
reserved for “The Stricken Home” Company. 

Mr. Braby had not arrived. The clock crept 
on. 

“If ’e’s done us in,” swore Jack Titmuss, “I’ll 
find ’im out wherever ’e is an’ break every bone 
in ’is beastly karkiss !” 

At one minute to the hour, however, Mr. Braby 
arrived. His face was perturbed. He waddled 
quickly across the platform. 

“Get out!” gasped Mr. Braby. 

The company stared at him in bewilderment. 

“Get out!” repeated the manager. “Wrong 
train! I’ve had a wire! Changed the date! 
Get out! Quick!” It was the longest speech he 
had ever made in his life. 

They all scrambled out, Mrs. Houseboy fling- 
ing innumerable parcels on to the platform, and 


TAKING THE KNOCK 


79 

Mr. Plam bellowing to a porter to get their per- 
sonal luggage out of the van. 

“Changed the date?” queried Mr. Jack Tit- 
muss, thrusting his pointed nose very near the face 
of the manager. “Where do we play, then?” 

“Spennington ! Much better date! All out?” 

Yes, they were all out, and busily collecting 
their little belongings. The guard blew his 
whistle. The train began to move. And, at that 
precise second, Mr. Braby boarded the train and 
sailed out of the station! 

It was too late, when they realized the trick, 
to stop him. Jack Titmuss raced along the plat- 
form, jumped on to the footboard, and just man- 
aged to hit Mr. Braby full on the nose. The 
manager went to the floor of the compartment 
with a crash, and Jack Titmuss fell on to the plat- 
form, knocking over two milk-cans and a porter 
as he fell. 


Ill 

Then, indeed, there were lamentations and loud 
curses. Mrs. Houseboy yelled like a railway- 
engine, and beat the air with her umbrella. Miss 
Dulcie Link was carried into the refreshment- 
room in a semi-swooning condition, and Mr. 
Stanley Garland rushed up to the station police- 
man and gave the vanishing Mr. Braby in charge. 
Miss Dinwiddy put a protecting arm round Jilly’s 


8o 


THE GAY LIFE 


shoulders, and Mr. Plam retired to a remote cor- 
ner and said a great many very awful things in 
a quick undertone. 

But all these perfectly excusable demonstra- 
tions of anger and anguish would not mend the 
situation. The fact remained that they were nearly 
three hundred miles from home, and “broke to 
the wide.” They had no beds to Sleep in and no 
money for food, or very little. The men made 
for the refreshment room by a natural instinct; 
the ladies huddled together in a waiting room, and 
either sobbed, or stared at the walls in silence, 
according to temperament. 

Of all this unfortunate little crowd, Jilly was 
by far the youngest and the least experienced. 
For that very reason, she had the highest spirit 
and the most initiative. Looking on at the weep- 
ing women and the cursing men, it occurred to 
her that there should be sufficient ability among 
them to earn the small amount necessary to pay 
their fares to London. 

Jilly approached the door of the refreshment- 
room and beckoned to Mr. Plam. The stage- 
manager came out at once, and Jilly led him to 
a quiet bench. 

“Yes, my dear?” said Mr. Plam kindly. 

“How many times have you been stony?” asked 

Jilly. 

“ ’Eaps,” said Mr. Plam. 

“An’ pulled through it?” 


TAKING THE KNOCK 


81 


“Betcher life.” 

“’Ow?” 

“Oh, lookin’ about.” 

‘‘Well, we got to look about Ilkhampton, old 
chap, an’ quick.” 

Mr. Plam shook his head. 

“There ain’t nothing to be got out of this one- 
eyed caboodle.” 

“Ain’t there? Don’t you be too sure! All 
these men are out on strike. They came out of 
their own accord — we\e bin chucked out. All the 
week they’ve been thinkin’ of us as lords and 
ladies, and they wouldn’t come near. But if we 
up an’ tell ’em the way we’ve bin served — wot 
about it? If we ask ’em to put up a tanner or 
ninepence apiece, wot about it? There’s a sayin’ 
as the poor ’elps the poor, ’an I believe it.” 

Mr. Plam thoughtfully stroked his unshaven 
chin. 

“We can’t beg, Jilly,” he observed. 

“Who said anything about begging? I don’t 
want to beg! I never begged yet! Wot I mean 
is, give ’em a run for their money! Put up a 
show ! Let’s all do a turn ! Don’t matter much 
wot it is! ’Ave a procesh. round the town in 
the morning with sandwich boards — ‘THE 
STRANDED MUMMERS’— something o’ 
that! Ed Chauncey’s at Kingsridge — we’ll get 
him to come over an’ give us a turn! Get the 
crowd round and see wot they ’ave ter say !” 


82 


THE GAY LIFE 


Jilly’s enthusiasm fired Mr. Plam, and the com- 
pany were soon round him in a circle. All they 
needed was a lead. Difficulties vanished into thin 
air. Mr. Jack Titmuss, it came out, could dance 
on one stilt, play the ocarina, and imitate any 
animal in the farmyard. Mrs. Houseboy would 
wear her black velvet and give selections from 
Lady Macbeth and the Nurse. Jilly, very daring, 
thought she could imitate some of the celebrities 
of the music-halls. At the least, she could turn 
cartwheels, dance, and whistle on her fingers. 
Miss Dinwiddy could recite “Gray’s Elegy” and 
sing “Three Fishers.” Miss Dulcie Link would 
wear her mauve ; if any further contribution was 
necessary, she would sing two songs at the piano. 
Mr. Plam would stage-manage. As for Mr. Stan- 
ley Garland, he would be happy to act the humble 
role of business-manager. 

Exhilarated by the prospects of enormous suc- 
cess and much gold, the company dispersed to re- 
turn to their old rooms for the night or find new 
ones. It was a gamble, for a hall had to be se- 
cured and posters printed, but the alternative was 
a more desperate gamble still. 

The telegraph-office was closed, but Jilly per- 
suaded Miss Dinwiddy to write to Ed Chauncey 
and get him to reply by wire the first thing in the 
morning. 

By nine-thirty of the next day came his reply: 


TAKING THE KNOCK 83 

“Sure coming over by car buck into it — Ed.” 

Jilly danced for joy, and even Miss Dinwiddy 
began to view the situation with a ray of hope. 

At ten o’clock they turned out to patrol the 
streets of Ilkhampton. Mr. Plam had been very 
busy, and was supplied with boards which bore 
the following simple inscriptions: 

WE ARE 

THE STRANDED MUMMERS!!! 

(See Small Bills.) 

Give us a Hand this Afternoon at 2.30 
ASSEMBLY ROOMS!! 

“The Poor Should and Do Help the Poor.” 

The small bills, to be distributed as they 
walked, told of their desertion by Mr. Braby, 
Manager of “The Stricken Home” Co., and gave 
some details of the impromptu performance. It 
also mentioned the prices of admission, which 
were temptingly small. 

The procession lined up in this order: 

(1) MRS. HOUSEBOY, with one board on 
chest and carrying a large umbrella. 

(2) MISS DULCIE LINK, with no board, but 
several small bills, a sweet smile, and a 
mauve sunshade. 

(3) MISS ELEANOR DINWIDDY, board 
back and front, board on shoulders, grim 


84 


THE GAY LIFE 

set expression, hands (full of small bills) 
stuck straight out on both sides. 

(4) MISS JILLY NIPCHIN, board on chest, 
mother’s best hat on head, red silk blouse 
(borrowed from Miss Dunwiddy for the oc- 
casion), silk stockings with Jacob’s ladder 
in right leg (gift of Dulcie Link). 

(5) MR. JACK TITMUSS, board back and 
front, board on head, playing, alternately, 
the Jew’s Harp and the penny whistle. 

(6) MR. PLAM, board on head, board on chest, 
board on back, plenty of small bills, dinner- 
bell borrowed from his landlady. 

(7) MR. STANLEY GARLAND, no boards, 
silk hat, coat with rabbit-fur collar, a few 
small bills, urbane smile. 

To say that this demonstration attracted atten- 
tion in the streets of Ilkhampton would be to un- 
derstate the case in a highly absurd manner. It 
caused a great sensation. The loafing men and 
boys joined in behind, and the women and girls 
came rushing to their doors. Shopkeepers de- 
serted their customers as the strange procession 
passed, and horses had to be securely held and 
lavishly patted. 

There was, of course, much laughter, but the 
little company cared nothing for that. Their 
small bills were in huge demand, and that was all 
their purpose. Mrs. Houseboy stalked proudly 


TAKING THE KNOCK 85 

along at the head of the procession, Miss Link 
minced through the mud, Miss Dinwiddy was 
“quite the lady,” Jilly ignored the Jacob’s ladder, 
Mr. Titmuss twanged and whistled like a small 
ship in a high gale, Mr. Plam rang his bell so 
violently that the Fire Brigade almost turned out, 
and Mr. Garland raised his silk hat two hundred 
and eleven times in the High Street alone ! 

Just as they had completed their round, and 
were nearing the Assembly Rooms, where a crowd 
had already gathered, a black and yellow motor- 
car dashed up, which contained Mr. Ed Chaun- 
cey and all his apparatus. Ed rose from his place 
in the car, leapt on to the seat, shouted : “ ’ Rah ! 
’Rah! ’Rah!” in what he believed to be the best 
Harvard manner, and then proceeded to harangue 
the multitude. Interrupted in this by a police- 
man, who said the traffic was in a state of con- 
gestion, Mr. Chauncey insisted on taking the 
whole company to the “Golden Griffin” and stand- 
ing them a lunch. 

Never was such a luncheon! With champagne 
on the table and money in readiness round the 
corner, the dejection of overnight vanished as 
swiftly as Mr. Braby in the railway-train. But 
there was no time for speeches, for the public — 
the dear public! — was waiting, and Mr. Chaun- 
cey had to get back to Kingsridge in time for the 
first house. 

Off they paired, therefore, and away they went 


86 


THE GAY LIFE 


to the Assembly Rooms. Within ten minutes 
after the opening of the doors, the hall was 
packed to the uttermost, and Mr. Garland’s small 
leather bag was very full of coppers and small 
silver. 


IV 

No need to describe the performance. When 
any building is packed to the doors with a friendly 
audience, everybody who steps on to the stage is 
a genius, and every word uttered is a shaft of 
the most exquisite wit. Nobody could do wrong. 
They dubbed Mrs. Houseboy “Ma,” and Miss 
Link “Gertie,” and Miss Dinwiddy “Auntie,” 
and Jilly “Little Tich,” and Mr. Titmuss just 
“Jack.” As for Ed Chauncey, when Mr. Tit- 
muss went on the stage and told them that the 
famous Equilibrist had come all the way from 
Kingsridge to help “a few brother-and-sister- 
pros.” out of a hole, they called the young Amer- 
ican to the footlights again and gave him three 
splendid British cheers. 

It was a great afternoon, and the small troupe 
were wild with glee when they collected on the 
stage to divide the spoils. Mr. Stanley Garland, 
who had no bag now, but whose pockets seemed 
to be bursting with money, first of all warned 
them not to be too sanguine. 

“The prices, ladies and gentlemen, were very 


TAKING THE KNOCK 


87 

low, and there are certain expenses to be met. 
There will be thirty shillings to pay for the hall 
and cleaning; fifteen shillings for the printing, and 
five shillings for the gas. That makes two-pound- 
ten to come out of our takings. Mr. Plam, will 
you help me to count?” 

He shovelled the money out of his pockets on to 
a table. The eager pairs of eyes noted a great 
deal of copper and very little silver; still, such a 
lot of coppers must mount up. There had been 
wild talk, during the afternoon, of fifty pounds, 
and Mr. Titmuss had looked the hall over from 
a crack in the proscenium-wing and appraised it, 
carelessly, at anything from sixty to eighty. 

As the counting proceeded, however, it was 
quite evident that all these calculations were far 
too optimistic. The silver came to very little 
more than three pounds; and the coppers, all in 
little piles of twelve at last, totalled something 
under four pounds. Seven pounds in all, with 
two-ten to come off, left four-ten for the com- 
pany ! 

There was a dead silence. Mr. Jack Titmuss 
was the first to speak. 

“I don’t rumble it,” he said. 

“What do you mean by that?” asked Mr. Gar- 
land. 

“What I said. I don’t rumble it. The 
bloomin’ ’all was packed.” 

“At low prices, as I warned you.” 


88 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Wot prices?” 

“Nominally, ninepence and sixpence. But I 
took it upon myself to let in a good many at three- 
pence and even two-pence.” 

“Oh, you did, did you? Wot in ’ell for?” 

“Because I thought you wanted as much as 
you could get.” 

Mr. Titmuss looked at Mr. Plam, and Mr. 
Plam looked at Ed Chauncey. There was a pain- 
ful silence. Mrs. Houseboy, right down in the 
dumps again, began to whimper. Miss Din- 
widdy, cold and impassive, looked round for Jilly 
but could not discover her. 

“Well, Mr. Chauncey,” said Jack Titmuss, 
“you know something of this game. What should 
you ’ave said as there was in this ’all?” 

“This is not a guessing matter,” replied Mr. 
Chauncey. “I should like to ask Mr. Garland 
one question.” 

“By what right do you interfere?” retorted 
Garland. 

“By the right of a man,” cut in Jack Titmuss, 
“who stood by the crowd and wasn’t above ap- 
pearing on the same platform with ’em !” 

A murmur of approval greeted this remark, 
and Mrs. Houseboy was heard to sob out from the 
background, “Gawd bless ’im!” 

“Well,” continued Garland, “put your ques- 
tion.” 

“Pd just like to know,” said Chauncey very 


TAKING THE KNOCK 


89 

quietly, ‘‘what’s become of Mr. Garland’s bag?” 

“What bag?” demanded Garland, who had 
turned suddenly pale. 

“The bag that you had in your hand when I 
was standing at your elbow during the first part 
of the show.” 

“That’s a lie! You were never at my elbow!” 

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Garland. You didn’t 
see me, but I was there all the same. And that 
bag looked pretty juicy.” 

“If you want to know, I emptied the money into 
my pockets, and sent the bag round to my rooms 
by a messenger. Do you dare to insinuate ?” 

“And I,” observed Mr. Chauncey, still very 
collected, “took the liberty of sending another 
messenger to bring the bag back again.” 

Mr. Garland turned a shade paler. 

“You impertinent puppy!” he stormed. “But 
for the presence of these ladies, I’d give you the 
thrashing you deserve !” 

“If the ladies will kindly retire ” suggested 

Mr. Chauncey. 

“Oh, don’t let them fight!” moaned Mrs. 
Houseboy. “Don’t let them fight!” 

But Ed Chauncey was taking off his coat, and 
Mr. Garland was compelled to do the same. Miss 
Dulcie Link screamed, and retired to a corner 
whence she could obtain an uninterrupted view. 
Miss Dinwiddy escorted Mrs. Houseboy to a 
dressing-room and shut her in with an extra hand- 


THE GAY LIFE 


90 

kerchief and a bottle of smelling salts. Mr. Plam, 
by instinct, cleared the stage, and Jack Titmuss 
ran for a basin of water and a piece of flannel. 

Garland was the taller and heavier man, but 
Chauncey was in perfect training — as he was com- 
pelled to be. Although they looked ill-matched, 
therefore, and Garland evidently felt pretty sure 
of himself, Jack Titmuss offered Mr. Plam “three 
to two on the little ’un.” The stage-manager re- 
fused to bet, and, as a matter of chivalry, offered 
his services as second to Garland. 

In the dim light of the empty hall, the two men 
moved warily round each other, waiting for the 
first blow that would warm their blood. Garland 
lost patience at last, and attempted to rush the 
American, who skipped aside with great agility 
and cuffed his antagonist on the nape of the neck. 
Garland turned and made another lunge. Chaun- 
cey slipped and went down on one knee. Seeing 
his chance, Garland aimed a ferocious blow at 
the American’s head. Chauncey bobbed, but could 
not altogether escape. The blow caught him on 
the side of the head, and sent him to the stage. 
But he was up in a flash, laughing and sparring 
as before. The first round ended in favour of 
Garland. 

They came up for the second round very 
briskly, and Chauncey got in a neat one on the 
tall man’s jaw. Garland was furious, and hit out 
with his right and left. Both blows missed, and 


TAKING THE KNOCK 


9i 

Chauncey, seeing that the big man was beginning 
to blow, pranced round him again, still laughing. 
Garland rushed him into a corner, and was thump- 
ing him pretty badly when Mr. Plam and Jack 
Titmuss ordered a “break-away,” and enforced 
their order by main strength. Thus the second 
round was a draw. 

They were coming up for the third round when 
a small figure dashed into the hall at the far end, 
carrying a leather bag. 

“I’ve got it!” yelled Jilly. “Here it is!” 

The combatants paused, and looked down the 
hall. Garland recognised his bag and the mes- 
senger in a flash. 

“Put that down!” he shouted. 

“Shan’t!” retorted Jilly. 

Before the other men guessed what he was go- 
ing to do, Garland leapt from the stage into the 
body of the hall and made for Jilly. She shrieked, 
and dodged behind a row of chairs. Garland 
tried to pull the chairs away, but Chauncey was 
too quick for him. Throwing science to the winds, 
he caught the big man by the collar and swung 
him round. Then he hit him one in the left eye, 
another in the right, and gave him a third in the 
mouth. 

“Fight kids, do you?” he panted, not smiling 
now, but very angry. 

“Yes!” snarled Garland. “I know all about 
you and your kid!” 


92 


THE GAY LIFE 


14 What’s that?” asked Chauncey, scarcely real- 
ising the remark. 

“I know all about you — you and that gutter- 
snipe! What’ll the doctor say? And the dear 
old parents?” 

But that was the end of his vileness. Chauncey 
flew at him, and slashed out at the sneering, evil 
face. Garland tried to parry, but nothing could 
stand against the fury of the American. Again 
and again he “got home,” until at last the bully 
fell headlong amongst a pile of overturned chairs, 
and lay there. 

Chauncey, in a second, was cool and smiling 
again. 

“Now, see here, Mr. Stanley Garland,” he ob- 
served. “You’re the gent that advised this little 
girl so much for her good that she got the sack. 
Then, when she made good on her own, you 
turned nasty. On top of that, you tried to make 
off with the big slice of this afternoon’s boodle. 
Get up, Garland, and get out of this, or I’ll hand 
you another small dose of the same mixture I” 

Garland rose to his feet and Mr. Plam gave 
him his coat and hat. He slouched towards the 
door. 

“Won’t you wait while we look inside the bag?” 
asked Mr. Titmuss very politely. 

But Garland was not inquisitive, it seemed, 
about the contents of the bag. In less than an 


TAKING THE KNOCK 93 

hour, he was on his way to London, vowing all 
sorts of vengeance. 


v 

The bag was locked, and Garland had the key, 
but they broke it open and tumbled the silver on to 
the table. With the money already in their pos- 
session, the “Stranded Mummers” found that they 
had earned just on thirty pounds in one afternoon. 
When the expenses were paid, there was enough 
to give them their salaries in full. 

The excitement was terrific. The girls em- 
braced each other, and the men gripped each other 
by the hand. Then, amidst cheers, all the girls 
kissed Ed Chauncey, and Mr. Plam put a crown 
to the joyous proceedings by kissing Mrs. House- 
boy. 

The manager of the hall, meanwhile, stood 
patiently waiting. He was a bit of a sentimen- 
talist himself, but just at the moment he had an 
eye to business. When the first transports had 
subsided, therefore, he stepped forward. Ad- 
dressing himself to Chauncey, he said: 

“I don’t know what the future plans of this 
party may be, but I liked the show, and if they 
care to put in another two nights at my hall on 
the same terms, I shall be pleased to accommodate 
them.” 


94 


THE GAY LIFE 

The mummers were ready to leap at the chance, 
but Chauncey steadied them with a gesture. 

“You bet you would!” he replied with a smile. 

“Or,” added the manager, quickly, “I am will- 
ing to consider any reasonable offer.” 

“That’s talking,” said Chauncey. “Just allow 
me a moment to speak to my friends.” 

“Certainly,” agreed the manager, and retired 
to the far end of the hall. 

“Now, boys and girls,” said Chauncey, “you’ve 
struck it lucky. These things, as you know, hap- 
pen sometimes in our biz., and it’s happened now. 
Don’t miss it. Don’t mistrust your own luck. As 
somebody once said, nothing’s too good to be 
true. If you’ll let me talk to this chap, I’ll fix 
you up here for a couple of nights, and get a 
smart and straight fellow I know of at Manches- 
ter to come and run the business end. Where 
were you booked for this week?” 

“Longbridge,” they told him. 

“Very good. The manager at the theatre there 
will be in a hole. He’s no claim on you, but he’ll 
want an attraction, and he won’t get a better one 
than this in a hurry. I’ll see him or ’phone him 
to-morrow, and fix you up for the last three nights 
of the week. Then it all depends on yourselves 
how long you hang together and go on.” 

The mummers were very heartfull. They felt 
that nothing but death would ever part them. 


TAKING THE KNOCK 


95 

Chauncey recalled the manager of the hall, and 
dealt with him in this way. 

“Well, sir, my friends are naturally anxious to 
return to London, where immediate engagements 
are awaiting them. But I have managed to per- 
suade them to accept your offer on suitable terms.” 

The manager smiled and rubbed his hands. 

“Very good, Mr. Chauncey. And the terms?” 

“You will provide the hall, lighting, cleaning, 
use of any scenery in stock, piano, and the neces- 
sary attendants. You will also advertise the show 
at your own expense.” 

“I usually ” put in the manager. 

“Yes, I know you do, but this is not any usual 
proposition. This troupe has made good, and 
the thing’s a cert. You know that as well as I 
do. I was about to say, you will keep twenty-five 
per cent of the gross takings, and hand over the 
remainder each night after the show. Is it a deal 
or is it off?” 

“It’s a deal,” agreed the manager. 

Chauncey turned to the smiling troupe. 

“Now, boys and gels, I must be getting back. 
I don’t want no bouquets or floral festoons, or any- 
thing of the kind. I guess one Garland’s enough 
to go on with. Jilly, here’s something I found 
in the bottom of the bag.” 

And he handed her the missing letter from the 
panel-doctor. 

“I didn’t read it,” he whispered, teasing her. 


96 


THE GAY LIFE 


“You can if you like/’ said Jilly. 

“I guess that’s bluff!” 

“No, it isn’t.” 

They were alone on the empty stage. The 
others had gone in search of their belongings. 

“Say, kid,” asked Ed Chauncey, “was it your 
idea to send for me or Miss Dinwiddy’s?” 

Jilly hesitated. Then all her loyalty rose up 
within her. 

“Miss Dinwiddy’s,” she replied firmly. “If you 
want to say good-bye to her, you’ll find her in 
Number Five.” 

“I’ll cut along right now. Good-bye, kid.” 

“Good-bye, Mr. Chauncey.” 

“Anything wrong with ‘Ed’ ?” 

“No, I don’t think so. Good-bye, Ed. And 
thanks ever so!” 


VI 

Quite late that night, Miss Dinwiddy awoke. 
The candle was still burning, and Jilly was out 
of bed. 

“Anything the matter, dear?” asked Miss Din- 
widdy. 

Jilly started. 

“No, old girl, thanks. I’m only getting a hand- 
kerchief out of my bag.” 

“All right, dear. Good-night.” 

Miss Dinwiddy was soon asleep again, but 


TAKING THE KNOCK 


97 

the candle burnt on. Jilly’ s movements were mys- 
terious. She got into bed, and placed something 
under her pillow. Two minutes later, she sat up, 
pulled the something from under her pillow and 
looked at it intently. Then, having made quite 
sure that her friend was asleep, she kissed it. 

The something was the little leather purse 
given to her at Blackborough by Ed Chauncey. 

Jilly lay down again, restoring the purse to its 
place beneath the pillow. Yet still she could not 
sleep. 

“I’m a beast!” she told the ceiling. “I’m not 
fit to have a pal like dear old Nelly!” 

Getting out of bed, she put the purse at the very 
bottom of the bag, pulled out the panel-doctor’s 
letter, put that under her pillow in place of the 
purse, and blew out the candle. 

Still she could not sleep. She held the letter 
in her hand, she kissed it, even embraced it. No 
sleep. 

Very cautiously, Jilly relighted the candle, crept 
across to the bag, recovered the purse, and popped 
it under her pillow by the side of the letter from 
the panel-doctor. 

Then, at last, Jilly fell asleep. 

In a room at Kingsridge, twenty-five miles 
away, Mr. Ed Chauncey sat staring, resolutely, 
at a portrait of Miss Eleanor Dinwiddy. 


CHAPTER IV 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 

I 

Mr. Ed Chauncey, the World-Famous 
Equilibrist, was toasting muffins in the sitting- 
room of his lodgings at Liverton. He sat imme- 
diately in front of a large fire, for the month was 
March, and Liverton can be very cold in March. 
Mr. Chauncey’ s face was already toasted, his 
toasting-fork being a table-knife. A handkerchief 
was wound about his hand to protect it from the 
fierce heat of the fire. 

On the left of the fireplace sat Jilly, eagerly 
buttering the muffins as Mr. Chauncey handed 
them to her. She was six months older than the 
day when the “Stranded Mummers” knocked Ilk- 
hampton sideways with their impromptu matinee . 
Jilly’s hair no longer dangled about her neck; no 
longer did she parade the streets in mother’s hat; 
her shoes were neat and her stockings ladderless. 
Jilly, in short, was finding her feet. 

On the right of the fireplace sat Miss Dinwiddy. 
For six months, as a “Stranded Mummer,” she 
98 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 99 

had been reciting the most melancholy poems, 
and singing the most melancholy songs, in the 
English language; and always with the success 
that accompanies the depths of melancholy in 
these strange islands. Miss Dinwiddy looked 
well, almost plump ; but she sighed as she watched 
the pile of muffins grow. People had been known 
to die of eating muffins. 

‘‘Well, girls,” said Mr. Chauncey, having at 
last toasted all the muffins and held his face in the 
passage for three minutes to let it cool off, “so 
the ‘Stranded Mummers’ are breaking up at last. 
That little stunt turned out real and good trumps, 
eh?” 

“The answer’s a peach,” said Jilly. “Look at 
Miss Nipchin. Everything I got on, from top to 
toe, bought new for me! The first time in me life 
I could ever say that. I began to think nobody 
ever had anything new except the Queen.” 

“Yes,” agreed Miss Dinwiddy, with a groan, 
“it’s been a success.” 

“And she’s got an offer!” chimed in Jilly ex- 
citedly. “Tell Ed about it, Nelly.” 

“It’s for repertory,” chanted Miss Dinwiddy. 

“By Jove!” exclaimed Mr. Chauncey, with 
something like reverence. “Real repertory — 
high-browed stuff — or just stock?” 

“Stock be blowed!” cried Jilly. “It’s the 
Westbury Repertory! Six months with a nop- 
tion! There — now I’ve said it!” 


100 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Splendid!” congratulated Ed Chauncey. “Just 
the very work to suit you, Miss Dinwiddy. All 
good plays, a new play every week, and a season 
in London. You’ll be snapped up for the West 
End before you know where you are!” 

Miss Dinwiddy sighed. 

“And what about Miss Nipchin?” asked Ed, 
ruining his performance that evening, and endan- 
gering his life, with a third muffin. “Got any 
plans, Jilly?” 

“Nope,” replied Jilly. “It’s old Ilott’s wait- 
ing-room for me, and then a nice walk in the Park, 
and then back to the waiting-room.” 

“Ever thought o’ the halls?” asked Ed. 

“Well, seein’ as I’ve spent every blessed mo- 
ment in the halls as I could manage since the 
‘Stranded Mummers’ got on the go, working up 
me ‘celebrated impersonations of favourite 
artistes,’ I should say I had thought of them! 
But you might as well think of Buckin’ am Pallis 
from what I can see of it !” 

“I got an idea the other night,” observed Ed 
Chauncey rather timidly. 

“Well done you!” said Jilly. 

“I don’t know that it’s any good,” went on the 
equilibrist modestly, “but you never know. I was 
thinking that what you want is a little sort of 
sketch.” 

“Me in a sketch ! Get a mile off, you boys !” 

“Oh, not a real play, but a sort of story that 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT ioi 

you could work your imitations into. Care to 
hear it?” 

Miss Dinwiddy and Jilly begged him to pro- 
ceed. But Mr. Chauncey, who thought little of 
balancing himself on nothing twenty feet above 
the stage, became uncommonly shy as he ex- 
pounded his first attempt at authorship. 

“Expect you’ll guy it to ribbons, girls, but here 
goes. At present, you do your imitations just 
one after the other, with no connecting thread. 
But you do them in boy’s costume, which is good. 
So I thought, why not be a London bootblack?” 

“Lovely!” cried Jilly, clapping her hands. “I’d 
have a red coat, and a peaked cap, and bare feet, 
and a box, and brushes, and all the rest of it! 
Can’t you see me, Nelly?” 

“Yes, dear,” sighed Miss Dinwiddy, “I see 
you.” 

“Well,” continued Ed Chauncey, warming to 
it, “then you want a street scene — they’ve always 
got that in stock in these halls — and the curtain 
goes up with you sitting on your box reading a 
halfpenny paper.” 

Jilly planted both elbows on the table, and 
stared at the equilibrist as though he were Shake- 
speare come to life again. 

“There’s supposed to be an article in the paper 
about every cloud having a silver lining and all 
that.” 

Deep groan from Miss Dinwiddy. 


102 


THE GAY LIFE 


“The kid reads it out, and a gent comes walk- 
ing in.” 

“Gent!” said Jilly. “Gent! Am I going to 
have a company of me own?” 

“Well, you can cut out the gent if you like, 
but it would help the sketch. Round it off, see? 
Get a local super. Anyway, you can think about 
that. This gent comes walking in, and you offer 
to shine his boots. He tells you off and walks out 
the other side. Then you pick up the paper again, 
not much believing in silver linings, and come 
across something like this: ‘People have been 
known to change their luck by pretending to them- 
selves that they were prosperous in spite of all 
evidence to the contrary.’ See? Then it comes 
to this nipper that he’ll do a bit of pretending, 
and see if he can’t change his luck. So he pretends 
to put on a fur coat, and a top-hat, and patent- 
leather boots, and all that, and pretends to be 
driving to the Carlton to dinner. What’s the 
matter?” 

“I couldn’t never do all that,” said Jilly, her 
little face very downcast. 

“Couldn’t?” echoed Mr. Chauncey. “You 
ain’t tried yet. I think you could. What do you 
say, Miss Dinwiddy?” 

“Yes, dear, with a little coaching you could 
do it.” 

“Shall I go on?” asked Ed, his pride as an 
author rather hurt by the interruption. 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 103 

They were all attention. 

“Well, you just go through the pantomime of 
having a swell dinner — you could do the folks 
coming into the restaurant and all that — and then 
off you go in a taxi to a music-hall. You sit in a 
box, and the different stars come on — Marie 
Lloyd, Harry Lauder, Vesta Tilley — all those 
you know you can do. Instead of them doing the 
turns, you do them, see? 

“Now comes the finish, and this is very im- 
portant. Just as you’re in the middle of your best 
bit, the gent comes back and watches you. He 
turns out to be the manager of a hall, offers you 
an engagement, you accept, and off you go, box 
and other traps under your arm. Any good?” 

“Excellent,” was Miss Dinwiddy’s verdict, de- 
livered in a tone, for her, almost cheerful. 

“It’s a real nailer!” agreed Jilly. “The only 
thing is ” 

“Now!” the equilibrist warned her. 

“I wasn’t going ter say that, Mister Know-it- 
all ! I was going to say, how am I going to get 
it tried?” 

“You’ll have to go to an agent,” said Ed. 
“Personally, I don’t use one, but I expect that’ll 
be your best way. Do you know a good one?” 

“There aren’t any,” pronounced Miss Din- 
widdy quite finally. 

“I should think there must be one or two 
amongst so many,” was Mr. Chauncey’s opinion. 


104 THE GAY LIFE 

Jilly knew Mr. Ilott, through whom she had 
secured the engagement with Braby, the abscond- 
ing manager. It was resolved, therefore, for 
want of a better, that Jilly should present herself 
and her script at Mr. Ilott’s office directly she re- 
turned to London. 

“It’s very good of him to take so much trouble, 
isn’t it?” observed Jilly, as the girls walked home 
from Mr. Ed Chauncey’s lodgings. 

“Very,” replied Miss Dinwiddy. 

“He’s awfully nice, isn’t he?” went on Jilly. 

“Awfully, dear.” 

“You don’t mind his doing it for me, do you?” 

“Me, dear? Why should I mind?” 

“Well, isn’t he I mean ter say, I thought 

he was sort of your speshul property, Nell.” 

“Nonsense, my dear child. We’re just friends, 
that’s all.” 

“Sure?” 

“Quite sure, dear.” 

Jilly felt, for some reason, relieved. Then she 
felt sorry, because she had conjured up such a 
pretty little romance about Mr. Ed Chauncey and 
Miss Dinwiddy. Then she felt glad again — un- 
accountably glad. Then she called herself a silly 
little rotter, and determined not to worry her head 
about such things. 

For all that, at the very bottom of her old 
trunk was a six-sheet pictorial poster of Mr. Ed 
Chauncey, the World-Famous Equilibrist, balanc- 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 105 

ing himself by one hand on the back of a chair, 
that chair being balanced on many chairs, while 
his feet were almost out of sight at the very top 
of the poster. 


11 

Ilott’s Agency was as crowded as ever. They 
were all there — the old men in the top-hats and 
mangy fur-collars, and the pale youths in the 
shabby tight suits and the latest style of tie; the 
fat old ladies who had played Juliet to the Romeo 
of every dead and gone celebrity you could name, 
and the slim girls with wistful faces who had 
never played anything worth speaking about, and 
felt convinced that they never would. 

There were new faces, perhaps, but the new 
faces were so like the old ones that the company 
might have remained in Mr. Ilott’s waiting-room, 
standing to be seen and talking to be heard, ever 
since Jilly went away with “The Stricken Home.” 
They were all just as hungry, just as hopeful, 
just as ready with their simulated self-confidence ! 

Nobody recognised Jilly, but they saw that her 
clothes were good and made to fit her. Instinc- 
tively, they made way for her, and Jilly tasted the 
first sweets of success in London. She had con- 
quered the waiting-room of Ilott’s office ; the rest 
of London was still unconquered. 

She had written to Ilott, and he had made an 


io 6 


THE GAY LIFE 


appointment; apparently, however, he had since 
forgotten it. Several names were called, and the 
owners entered the private room with trembling 
steps, but Jilly waited in vain for the name of 
Nipchin. 

At last Ilott himself appeared, and scanned 
the crowd. Jilly was well to the front, so she 
plucked up her courage and tweaked him by the 
coat. 

“Who did that?” asked Ilott rather testily. 

“I did,” replied Jilly. 

“Well, it’s against the rules. Don’t do it again. 
You must wait your turn.” 

“I have waited it, Mr. Ilott. My appointment 
was for ten-thirty; it’s half-past twelve now.” 

“What’s your name?” 

“Jilly Nipchin.” 

“I don’t remember it.” 

“Don’t you? Shall I turn a cartwheel or 
whistle on me fingers? Is Mr. Braby in there? I 
want a few words with him!” 

“Oh, come in, come in!” muttered Ilott, only 
too anxious to stop her talking. For the story of 
Braby and “The Stricken Home” had gone all 
round the humbler ranks of the profession. 

Jilly tipped the crowd a confidential wink, and 
followed Ilott into his office. He was quite alone. 

“Sit down, Miss Nipchin.” 

“Thank you, Mr. Ilott.” 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 107 

“That engagement seems to have turned out 
well for you.” 

“No thanks to Braby!” 

“You’ve no cause to complain.” 

“I’m not complaining. But that doesn’t pre- 
vent him being a dirty dog.” 

“You haven’t come here, I hope, to waste my 
time by abusing Mr. Braby?” 

“Not much. I’m through with Braby. He’s 
a dirty dog and you can tell ’im I said so.” Mr. 
Ilott smiled. “I’m going on the halls,” continued 

JiHy. 

“Oh, you are, are you? In what capacity?” 

“Single turn. Sketch of me own.” 

“Good. Have you got a date?” 

“I shouldn’t be here if I had.” 

“I suppose not. You want my help, eh?” 

“Yes, as per usual terms.” 

Mr. Ilott seemed more interested. Jilly was 
an attractive little person, and still more attrac- 
tive in her good clothes. She might possibly have 
found a wealthy backer. 

“Tell me about the sketch,” said Mr. Ilott. 

Jilly hesitated a moment, and then she told him. 
She had a vague idea that these things sometimes 
“got pinched,” but Mr. Ilott was a gentleman 
with an office, and would not, therefore, be likely 
to do such things. So she poured the whole story 
of Ed Chauncey’s inventing into Ilott’ s ears, and 
fully expected him to exhibit unbounded delight. 


108 THE GAY LIFE 

But Mr. Ilott did nothing of the sort. He bit 
a pen, looked out of the window, examined Kis 
nails, and then said: 

“And what about the production ?” 

“The what?” asked Jilly. 

“The production — the scenery, dresses, props, 
and so forth. Have you got all those, Miss Nip- 
chin?” 

“Not yet,” said Jilly. 

As a matter of fact, the question was rather a 
staggerer. Ed Chauncey had disposed of the 
scene in a breath, and Jilly had half thought of 
making the red coat herself. 

“You know, of course,” continued Ilott, “that 
managers nowadays expect these sketches to be 
very well put on?” 

“Oh, yes,” said Jilly. 

“And that you can’t expect anything in the 
way of money unless you carry your own scene, 
or, at the very least, a front-cloth ?” 

“Oh, yes,” said Jilly. 

“Well, then? Are you prepared to find all 
that?” 

“Certainly,” said Jilly. 

“That’s good.” Mr. Ilott smiled again — quite 
a different smile. He was clearly pleased with 
Jilly. “There is somebody, perhaps, interested 
in the sketch?” 

“I’m pretty interested in it meself fer a start.” 

Mr. Ilott laughed — actually laughed. The 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 109 

mummers in the waiting-room heard the laugh, 
and deeply envied Jilly Nipchin. 

“I’m sure you are! But what I mean is, if 
somebody is backing your sketch, and you care to 
put me in communication with the gentleman, I 
have no doubt I could place the whole affair on a 
business footing.” 

“Backing it? Gentleman? I don’t know what 
you mean.” 

“Oh, come, Miss Nipchin, you haven’t been on 
the stage very long, but I’m sure you must know 
that people outside the profession often have a 
little flutter on the boards if they happen to be 
interested in some particular artiste. I took it 
for granted that you ” 

“Oh, did you?” Jilly rose, and raised her little 
chin to an incredible height. “Then allow me to 
inform you, Mr. Ilott, that I don’t depend on the 
kindness of nobody! I don’t want their rotten 
backing, whatever it is! I’m going to get on in 
this business, and I’m going to get on by my own 
work, and anybody that does anything for me will 
get paid for it, fair, square, and above-board. I 
gave you the first chance of placing my sketch 
because it was through you I got my first job, 
such as it was ! But I tell you straight out, I’m on 
me own, and I’ve got nothing in this world but 
what I’ve earned as an artiste. So you can take 
it or leave it!” 


no THE GAY LIFE 

“Thank you, Miss Nipchin. I think I’ll 
leave it!” 

“Very good. But some day you’ll come to me, 
with your hat in your hand, and ask for my work. 
See if you don’t I” 

Mr. Ilott laughed a third time, and the crowd 
in the waiting-room, when they heard that laugh, 
were not quite so envious of Jilly. But she came 
stalking out, her chin still extraordinarily high in 
the air, gave them a “So long, boys and girls!” 
and went into the Embankment Gardens to think 
over the problem. 

Ill 

The result of her cogitations appears in this 
wise. 

Mr. Peterton, the Managing Director of that 
great firm, Morning and Dick, sat in his mag- 
nificent office surrounded by telephones, and speak- 
ing-tubes, and blotting-paper, and calendars, and 
pen-wipers. Morning and Dick, as you know, 
have built up a huge business in the blacking line. 
And not only blacking. Moving with the times, 
they can brown you or white you just as effectively 
as they can black you; further, if the decree of 
fashion brought in pink bdots, or blue boots, or 
green boots — which heaven forbid! — Morning 
and Dick would, no doubt, be ready to pink you, 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT hi 

or blue you, or green you within twenty-four 
hours. 

Mr. Peterton, naturally, was a very important 
person. Even if you had an appointment, it took 
you a long while to get at him. First there was 
a gentleman who poked his face through a little 
window marked “ENQUIRIES” and looked sus- 
picious. Then you were handed on to a boy in 
charge of a lift, who looked more suspicious. 
After that you entered the ante-ante-room, which 
was crowded with young ladies viciously assault- 
ing typewriting-machines ; these young ladies 
looked very suspicious. From the ante-ante-room 
you went into the ante-room, where there was a 
stern gentleman at a nice desk who looked fright- 
fully suspicious. 

Finally, when you were utterly cowed, baffled, 
bruised in spirit, downcast, and everlastingly 
wretched, you attained the presence of Mr. Peter- 
ton, who, to your intense astonishment, was not 
at all suspicious, but a very affable, smiling gentle- 
man with an outstretched hand. 

On a certain morning, shortly after Jilly’s in- 
terview with Mr. Ilott, you find her stubbornly 
battling with all these obstacles. Jilly, as you 
know, had a short way with her when she liked. 
She thrust a letter at Mr. “ENQUIRIES,” 
snubbed the lift-boy, withered , the typewriting 
young ladies, compressed her lips at the stern 


1 12 THE GAY LIFE 

gentleman, and was completely disarmed by Mr. 
Peterton. 

“Miss Nipchin?” said Mr. Peterton, placing 
a very comfortable arm-chair for her, into which 
Jilly sank so far that she nearly disappeared al- 
together, rescuing herself in the nick of time and 
cautiously perching, henceforth, on the extreme 
edge. 

“The same,” replied Jilly, polite though gasp- 
ing. 

“And what can I do for you, Miss Nipchin?” 

“It isn’t so much that,” explained Jilly, recover- 
ing her vanity-bag and umbrella, “as what I can 
do for you.” 

Mr. Peterton smiled. You had to be very 
crusty indeed not to smile at Jilly, and Mr. Peter- 
ton was not in the least crusty. 

“Well, Miss Nipchin, we are, of course, busi- 
ness people. I think you stated in your letter 
that you were on the stage, and in a position to 
give us a very handsome advertisement.” 

“That is so,” admitted Jilly, in her kindest 
way. 

“In return for which, I presume, you want 
something from us?” 

“I’m a business person,” said Jilly, looking ex- 
tremely small on the very edge of the huge chair. 

“Good. Now we understand one another. 
Will you tell me your scheme, Miss Nipchin?” 

“You’ve heard of Ed Chauncey, I suppose?” 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 113 

Mr. Peterton wrinkled his eyebrows, blinked 
at the ceiling, and muttered “Chauncey?” several 
times. 

“Is he,” he asked at last, “in our line of busi- 
ness?” 

“Not exactly,” replied Jilly. “He’s a equilib- 
berist.” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“A equilibberist. You know — balances him- 
self on a pile of chairs with one hand.” 

“Oh, yes, yes! No, I’m sorry that I have not 
yet had the pleasure of seeing Mr. Chauncey.” 

“Well, he’s mighty smart, and so I tell you. 
American, you know.” 

“Ah! A great nation!” 

“I should say so. Well, Ed Chauncey’s written 
me a sketch which I’m putting on the halls. I’m 
on the stage all the time, and I’m a bootblack. 
Getting warmer?” 

“Much warmer, thank you.” 

“Thought you’d cop it. This kid is supposed 
ter be outside a big railway-station. You have 
the railway-station painted on a cloth, see?” 

“Quite so, quite so.” 

“Pretty warm now, eh?” 

“Delightfully warm.” 

“Good egg. Not on’y that, this nipper is 
dressed like a bootblack, and has the proper box, 
brushes, an’ all that. Hot?” 

“Quite hot, Miss Nipchin.” 


THE GAY LIFE 


114 

“That’s you. Wot about it?” 

“Wait a minute. Not too fast. I take it that 
you want us to supply you with the coat, cap, and 
box that our boys use?” 

“Got it in once. But I want more than that. 
I want the picture of the railway-station, and you 
can have Morning and Dick as large as life on it, 
if you like.” 

“What would be the cost of this cloth, Miss 
Nipchin?” 

“Fifty pounds,” said Jilly, promptly. She 
didn’t know, and fifty pounds seemed a huge sum, 
but the offices of Morning and Dick were so very 
grand. 

“That seems a good deal,” was Mr. Peterton’s 
comment. 

“Yes, don’t it?” replied Jilly. “But we may 
as well have a good one while we’re about it, 
eh?” 

“Certainly — if we have one at all. Now, Miss 
Nipchin, I don’t want to discourage you, but, as 
a business man, I have to look at things all round. 
Suppose this sketch of yours is not a success — 
what then?” 

“Then you can have the cloth, and the coat, 
and the cap, and the box, and the whole outfit 
back again. I can’t say fairer than that, can I, 
now?” 

“You cannot. I admit it. There’s just one 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 115 

other question. Where is the sketch to be pro- 
duced?” 

“Ah, that’s a secret!” 

“Do you know?” 

“Not yet. But I soon shall know, if you’ll put 
up the fifty Jimmy O’Goblins.” 

“What is the name of it?” 

“You won’t give it away? I don’t want it 
pinched!” 

Mr. Peterton assured her that the title would 
be as safe as the Bank of England. Jilly looked 
cautiously round the huge room to see if any 
thieving members of the profession had discov- 
ered her scheme and concealed themselves in Mr. 
Peterton’s office overnight. At last, reassured, she 
approached the manager on tiptoe and whis- 
pered: 

“ ‘The Shining Hour.’ ” 

“Capital!” cried Mr. Peterton. “A capital 
title!” 

“And jer know what I’m called in the piece — 
the nipper, I mean?” 

Mr. Peterton listened breathlessly. 

“ ‘Dick Morning,’ ” hissed Jilly. Immediately 
the words had escaped her, she placed a fore- 
finger very tightly on her closed lips. 

“Excellent!” agreed Mr. Peterton. 

“See the point?” asked Jilly anxiously. 

Mr. Peterton nodded sagely. Then he, too, 


1 1 6 THE GAY LIFE 

placed a forefinger very tightly on his sealed 
lips. 

“That clinches it, don’t it?” suggested Jilly, in 
her normal tones. 

“I’ll tell you what we’ll do, Miss Nipchin. If 
you can come to me, or write to me, and tell me 
that you’ve been offered a week’s booking for 
your sketch at a London hall — I mean, any hall 
within four or five miles of Charing Cross — we’ll 
put down fifty pounds for your cloth, and fit you 
out with the kit that we provide for our boys.” 

Jilly, that hard little business woman, clasped 
her hands before her chest, and blinked some 
tears from her eyes. 

“On the understanding, ’Padded Mr. Peterton, 
“that, should the sketch fail — as I’m sure it won’t 
— the cloth and the other things are returned to 
us at once.” 

“You’re a darling,” said Jilly. 

“Would you like a letter to that effect?” 

“About what I called you?” 

“No, no!” laughed Mr. Peterton. “About the 
arrangement we’ve just come to.” 

“Why should I have a letter?” 

“Just as a sort of contract.” 

Jilly Nipchin, that fearfully obdurate little busi- 
ness-woman, held out her hand. Mr. Peterton 
shook it warmly. 

“That’s a good enough contract for me when 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 117 

I’m dealing with a gentleman,” said Jilly. “Will 
you come and see me making a bloomer of it?” 

“I shall look forward to the production with 
very great pleasure,” said Mr. Peterton. 


IV 

“Jilly Nipchin, my dear,” said Jilly to herself, 
as she left the offices of Morning and Dick and 
made her way, on the roof of a tram, towards 
Stageland, “keep your head down. If you get it 
too far up, you may lose it altogether and make a 
fool of yourself. I don’t deny, Jilly Nipchin, that 
you’ve done a good morning’s work, and you did 
it all yourself and nobody helped you. But, after 
all, Miss Nipchin, what’s that? You’re not Dick 
Whittington, nor yet the Princess o’ Wales. So 
keep your napper in its right place, J. Nipchin, 
especially when the tram’s going under the 
bridges.” 

For all this self-sermonising, she could not re- 
press a lovely little chuckle or two. Fifty quid 
was fifty quid. There was no getting away from 
that. Fifty quid would, or should, buy a very 
nice scene-cloth, and also pay certain other ex- 
penses. Now came the great question, how to 
get a trial week for the sketch? No more Ilott! 
She was determined on that! And Ilott was the 
only agent she knew. 


1 1 8 THE GAY LIFE 

Jilly descended from the tram and walked 
slowly over Westminster Bridge. Up Whitehall 
she went, and so into the Strand and along the 
“Actor’s Mile.” Better known members of the 
profession have been heard to say that it is less 
expensive to drive through the Strand than walk; 
Jilly, however, was safe as yet from the habitual 
“bob-borrower.” That prowling person knew 
nothing of “The Shining Hour” or the fifty quid. 

A familiar face came suddenly out of the crowd 
— a face that stared, smiled rather wanly, and 
quickly passed by. But Jilly turned abruptly, 
crashed into a grande dame even stouter than 
Mrs. Houseboy, cannoned off into a villain who 
was escorting a heroine into a place of refresh- 
ment, wriggled through a group of bepowdered 
dancing ladies, and gripped the owner of the fa- 
miliar face by the sleeve. 

“No, you don’t!” cried Jilly. 

The familiar face smiled quite brightly this 
time, so that, for all the thinness and lack of 
colour, it was undoubtedly the dial of Mr. Plam, 
lately stage-manager for “The Stranded Mum- 
mers,” and, before that, of “The Stricken Home.” 

“Hallo, Jilly, my dear!” said Mr. Plam, seiz- 
ing her hand and wringing it as though he were 
shaking up something in a half-frozen bottle. “I 
am glad to see you!” 

“Didn’t look much like it,” exclaimed Jilly re- 
proachfully. “Passing an old pal like that!” 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 119 

“The truth is,” explained Mr. Plam, “you 
looked such a swell !” 

“Oh, to Hull with all that!” retorted Jilly. 
“How’s things? What’s the news?” 

“Well, my dear, not much news. Mrs. Plam 
and the kids are all strong and hearty, particularly 
Mrs. Plam. She’s a wonder, is my wife ! Where 
she gets her energy from beats me ! I know I’m 
a poor husband, Jilly, and I daresay I sully the 
home — I think I mentioned that little fact to you 
once before — but how that woman can tell me 
off night and day, day and night, at the pace she 
does — well, she’s a marvel!” 

Jilly didn’t laugh. She felt as though she would 
like to try a telling-off match herself with Mrs. 
Plam, but was wise enough to keep her feelings 
under control. Jilly had seen well-meaning people 
interfering between man and wife in York Lane, 
and had helped to collect the pieces of the be- 
nevolent stranger afterwards. 

“Got a shop?” she enquired, not without pur- 
pose. 

“Shop?” repeated Mr. Plam. “No, I can’t say 
I have, unless nursing the baby, and keeping the 
twins out of the fire, and buying new boots and 
clothes for the lot can be called a shop. As far 
as I can see, my dear, stage managers of experi- 
ence aren’t wanted any longer. All the jobs go 
to young fellers with a bit of money in their 


120 


THE GAY LIFE 

purses, a packet of ‘Woodbines’ in their faces, 
and apartments to let in their heads.” 

They were standing just outside a restaurant 
where steaks, chops, sausages, and other madden- 
ing things are cooked in the window. Jilly took 
Mr. Plam by the arm and led him towards the 
door. 

“Come into the office,” she said. 

“Eh? Oh, no, thanks, Jilly. I had such a 
breakfast!” 

“Breakfast be blowed! Will you or will you 
not come into the office? I’ve got straight busi- 
ness to talk to you !” 

“Oh, if that’s it ” And they entered the 

food-shop. 

Jilly put Mr. Plam into a corner, and went 
to order blotting-paper and ink. These presently 
arriving, the blotting-paper looked remarkably 
like a Porterhouse steak, and the ink was served 
up in pewter-pots. 

“Now,” explained Jilly, “we can get to work. 
Just put this down, Mr. Secretary, will you?” 

So Mr. Plam, despite his splendid breakfast, 
consumed half the blotting-paper, whilst Jilly con- 
sumed the other (and smaller) half. As for the 
ink, no secretary in the world could have shown 
greater appreciation of that fluid. Jilly smiled 
happily as the bottom of the pewter-pot grew 
nearer and nearer to the ceiling. 

“Now for the ceiling-wax,” she suggested, and 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 12 1 

made the secretary hold that substance to the 
flame of a match. If it smelt more like a cigar 
than ordinary ceiling-wax, that was nobody’s busi- 
ness but their own. 

Then, and not till then, did Jilly tell Mr. Plam 
all about the sketch, and the visit to Morning and 
Dick, and Mr. Peterton’s offer, and the fifty quid. 
Mr. Plam was so excited when he heard all this 
news — especially the news of the fifty quid — that 
he wanted to rush off at once to a man he knew 
who was the acting-manager of a music-hall in the 
neighbourhood of Shoreditch. 

“Bertie Nutkins!” Mr. Plam informed her, 
breathing the information with the enthusiasm 
that carries conviction. “P’r’aps you know the 
name?” 

“I think I’ve heard it,” replied Jilly. 

“Charming chap! Full of enterprise! Bound 
to come out on the roof some day! No side! 
Directors think the world of ’im! I ’appen ter 
know that! Now, say the word, Jilly, and I’ll 
see ’im to-night at the first house and let you know 
what he says first thing in the morning!” 

“First thing in the morning?” retorted Jilly. 
“Think I’m made of wood? What’s the matter 
with me coming up too? I can watch the show 
and meet you after you’ve seen Bertie.” 

“Right you are! But ’e’s a swell, mind! 
None of yer larks, Jilly!” 

“Larks?” returned Jilly. “I don’t understand 


122 


THE GAY LIFE 

you, Mr. Secretary Plam! I keep these people 
at a distance, my good fellow!” 

And she swaggered from the restaurant, to the 
intense amusement of Mr. Plam, walking with 
mincing steps, and daintily holding up a skirt 
that was nowhere near the ground. 


y 

Mr. Bertie Nutkins, the young acting-manager 
who was bound to come out on the roof some 
day, stood in the box-office of the Shoreditch 
Scala, smoking a cigar. One of his underlings, 
after a brief parley through the little window, 
turned and spoke over his shoulder. 

“Somebody asking for you. Name of Nip- 
chin.” 

“Oh, yes! I know!” 

Mr. Bertie Nutkins was through the little 
door that led to the vestibule like a flash of light- 
ning. To Mr. and Mrs. Nipchin and Orris, who 
stood in a small and humble row awaiting the 
manager’s pleasure, this sudden appearance 
seemed almost supernatural. And what a gor- 
geous appearance Mr. Bertie Nutkins presented! 
Being Monday night, and the first house, his 
shirt, collar, and tie gleamed with irrepressible 
whiteness! Orris, open-mouthed, was quite sure 
that he had never seen so splendid a gentleman! 


4 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 123 

No dress-coat could possibly have been more per- 
fectly moulded to the figure! No dress-trousers 
could possibly have been more carefully creased! 
No patent-leather boots could possibly have been 
shinier! And as for the waistcoat-buttons and 
the front-studs of Mr. Bertie Nutkins, Orris fully 
expected to see some miscreant of Shoreditch dash 
in from the street and forthwith wrench those 
ravishing jewels from the very person of the young 
acting-manager! No wonder that the Directors 
thought the world of Mr. Nutkins! Come out 
on the roof, indeed! The marvel was that he 
did not straightway take flight for the vault of 
heaven. 

“Mrs. Nipchin?” exclaimed Mr. Bertie Nut- 
kins, raising his glossy silk hat with the left hand, 
and shaking Jilly’s mother with the right until 
she quivered again. “ Good evening! Mr. Nip- 
chin? Proud to meet you, sir! Master Nipchin? 
I have heard about you, my lad!” 

He dashed at the window of the box-office. 

“Box B, Mr. Taylor, if you please!” 

Mr. Taylor, without the slightest hurry or in- 
terest or change of expression, tore a little red 
ticket from his book, and handed it through the 
window. Mr. Bertie Nutkins scribbled on it, 
and passed it, with a low bow, to Mr. Nipchin. 

“Box B, sir ! Our best box! I’ll show you the 
way, if you’ll allow me!” 

He darted off, followed by the Nipchin party, 


THE GAY LIFE 


124 

who could do nothing but scramble up the stairs 
and mutter breathlessly, U A box! Did you ’ear 
that? Well, I never!” 

Arrived in the box, Mr. Bertie Nutkins called 
for three programmes and a pound of chocolates. 
Mrs. Nipchin cried a little as she removed her 
bonnet, but dried her eyes to read the following 
item on the programme: 

7. JILLY NIPCHIN 

Eccentric Comedienne; in 
An Entirely New Scena, Entitled, 

“THE SHINING HOUR” 

Scene: The Exterior of Waterloo Railway Station 

“Wot’s that as they calls ’er?” asked Mrs. Nip- 
chin, crying quite comfortably again now that 
her eyes were not required for the purposes of 
reading. 

“ ‘Eccentric Comedienne,’ ” read Orris. 
“What’s that, dad?” 

“A comedienne,” explained Mr. Nipchin, “is a 
comedienne. There’s no other name for ’em — 
leastways, not in a box. The gallery } ave bin 
known ter miscall ’em. An’ ’centric — well, that 
describes ahr Jilly to a T !” 

“Yes, indeed it does!” sobbed Mrs. Nipchin. 
“An’ wot it’ll lead to nobody knows ! Di’mond 
studs an’ wot not! It’s a un’ealthy atmosphere, 
say wot you may!” 

“Speaking for self,” replied Mr. Nipchin, “I 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 125 

don’t see much wrong with the atmosphere. But 
I’d give the chap as painted that there act-drop 
six months, an’ chance it!” 

“I should like to go round and see Jilly!” said 
the promising Orris. 

“You’ll do nothing of the sort!” replied his 
mother, placing a large and somewhat tear-stained 
chocolate in her mouth. “The poor child must be 
all of a twitter as it is without you falling over all 
the ’lectric wires an’ settin’ the theaytre on fire !” 

Mr. Bertie Nutkins, in the meantime, had shot 
through the pass-door and knocked, smartly but 
reverentially, at the door of Jilly’ s dressing room. 

“MissNipchin?” 

“Hello!” called Jilly. 

“Have you a moment?” 

The door was flung open, and Mr. Nutkins 
found himself confronted by a small boy with 
bare feet and partially bare legs, clad in ragged 
breeches, an old shirt open at the neck, a red 
coat with “M. and D.” on the collar, and a peaked 
cap bearing the full inscription, “Morning and 
Dick.” Jilly’ s hair, of course, had completely dis- 
appeared beneath a tousled boy’s wig. One 
or two smears of dirt on the face was all her 
make-up. 

“Excellent!” cried Mr. Bertie Nutkins. “Splen- 
did! You’ll knock ’em silly, Miss Nipchin! I’m 
sure you will!” 


126 


THE GAY LIFE 


In any case, it was pretty evident that Jilly had 
already knocked Mr. Bertie Nutkins silly. 

“Thanks muchly,” replied Jilly, and then they 
both tapped their heads with their knuckles, quite 
solemnly, to ward off the ill-luck that comes of 
boasting. 

“Your father and mother have arrived, Miss 
Nipchin, and your brother. IVe put them in Box 
B on the O. P. side.” 

“Good gracious! Mother in a box! She’ll 
fall out with pride if she doesn’t weep herself into 
a trance ! Many thanks, Mr. Nutkins.” 

“Anything more I can do for you, Miss Nip- 
chin?” 

“Nothing, thanks.” 

“I shall be in front, of course, to see your 
show.” 

“Poor lamb!” 

“And I’ve got one or two useful men coming 
up during the week — not to-night, but when you’re 
easy in it.” 

“Good egg!” said Jilly, thanking him with a 
look. 

Mr. Nutkins then sped back to the front of 
the house, and Jilly had a final conference with 
Mr. Plam, who was almost unrecognisable in a 
frock-coat, fancy trousers, top-hat, gloves, and 
cloth-topped boots. 

“It’s half the battle to put it on well,” Mr. 
Plam had explained. “You’ve got a lovely new 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 127 

scene-cloth, and I must live up to it.” So he had 
ransacked the theatrical costumiers and second- 
hand clothes-shops, finally procuring the entire 
outfit for fifteen shillings. Add a close shave, 
plenty of make-up, and a “swell” accent, and he 
had no doubt of scoring the acting success of his 
life with his eight lines. 

The excitement in Box B when No. 7 went 
up was not shared by the rest of the audience. 
The First House on a Monday is a critical house. 
It has a great idea of its own importance. It 
knows very well that, by its verdict, the perform- 
ers stand or fall for the remainder of that week. 

The First House consulted its programme to 
see what No. 7 might be, and the first house was 
plainly disappointed. A music-hall audience loves 
nothing better than a familiar name. A favourite 
in rubbish is an infinitely safer card than a 
stranger in a turn of real merit. 

The First House put on its critical cap and sat 
back. It saw a nice picture of Waterloo Station. 
That was all right as far as it went. It saw, in 
front of the station, a bootblack sitting on his box 
and reading a newspaper. 

The bootblack began to talk, and the First 
House listened. It was something about every 
cloud having a silver lining. The First House 
was clearly bored. It had not come there and 
paid good money to be preached at. A man in a 
top-hat strolled on, said a few words — almost in- 


128 


THE GAY LIFE 


audible from nervousness — and went off. The 
First House began to titter, unkindly. 

The bootblack was now acting — apparently imi- 
tating swells coming into a restaurant. The First 
House had lost the drift of the story, and became 
impatient. The unkind titters grew louder. After 
a certain line, somebody in the gallery shouted, 
“Nort in these trahsies!” — a reference to Jilly’s 
ragged breeches — and the First House laughed 
outright. 

Mr. Bertie Nutkins, very excited, told his at- 
tendants to shout “Order! Order!” A bad move. 
The First House began to “get its back up.” To 
add to the misfortunes, the stage had been dark- 
ened so that Jilly might have the benefit of the 
single “spot lime.” But the lime was always just 
behind her, or just in front of her, or just to 
the right or left of her. 

Growing impatient herself, Jilly deliberately 
sprang into the limelight. No sooner had she 
done this than the lime again deserted her. The 
First House laughed louder. Jilly’s blood was 
up, and she followed the lime. Still the lime 
eluded her. The house roared. Then, though 
she was acting all the time, the sketch developed 
into a contest between Jilly and the limelight man. 
Wherever the light went, Jilly followed it; yet, 
fast as she followed it, the light was faster. 

The audience yelled. Clearly, they preferred 
this to the real entertainment. Shouts of encour- 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 129 

agement resounded from all sides. Not a word 
of the dialogue could be heard. Mr. Bertie Nut- 
kins, that astute young manager, suddenly realised 
that the turn had developed from failure into suc- 
cess. He was right, too. The captious First 
House had seen something new, silly, grotesque. 
Your uneducated Londoner loves the silly gro- 
tesque. The curtain came down to real applause, 
and Jilly had two good calls — during which two 
bouquets were handed up to her. The first bore 
the card of Mr. Bertie Nutkins; the second that 
of Ed Chauncey. 

Mr. Nutkins rushed round to the stage — to find 
Mr. Plam hauling the limelight-man off his perch 
by the legs. 

“What’s the matter?” demanded the young 
manager. 

“ ’E done it for the purpose!” shouted the in- 
furiated Plam. “ ’E done it to queer us ! ’E’s bin 
got at, sir! I’ll smash ’is blinkin’ face in, see if I 
don’t!” 

“Are you dissatisfied?” asked the manager of 
JiHy. 

“Well,” Jilly was compelled to admit, “we 
never rehearsed it that way, but it seemed to go 
all right.” 

“We’ll talk about that later,” said Mr. Nut- 
kins. He turned to “limes.” “As for you, go 
and draw your week’s money and clear out of this 
theatre!” 


i 3 o THE GAY LIFE 

The man was moving off when Jilly stopped 
him. 

“Mr. Nutkins,” she begged, “please don’t give 
’im the sack! It would bring me bad luck — I 
know it would! Besides, I want him to do it 
again for the next house.” 

They had all moved up stage, for another turn 
was in progress. Mr. Nutkins insisted that dis- 
cipline must be maintained, and Jilly continued to 
plead for the culprit. At last the manager offered 
to give the man another trial if he would confess 
the name of the seducer. 

The fellow hesitated, and then, touched, per- 
haps, by Jilly’s kindness in pleading for him, 
muttered: 

“Dunno ’is nime ! ’E give me a quid, an’ there 
was ter be another o’ the same if I queerecT the 
turn. And a better job elsewhere. I was a mug 
— that’s wot it comes to.” 

“What was this man like?” asked Plam quickly. 

“Tall, lanky, funny eyes, ’igh bridge to ’is nose. 
In the perfesh, I shud sye.” 

“Garland!” exclaimed Jilly and Plam together. 
Their old friend of “The Stricken Home” Co. 
had followed them up and done his little best. 

“Get back on your perch,” said Mr. Bertie Nut- 
kins to “limes,” “and thank this lady for it!” 

“Oh, chuck that!” exclaimed Jilly. “You work 
it as well for the rest of the week, old son, and 
you shall get the other quid just the same ! Plam, 


CHASING THE LIMELIGHT 13 1 

you want a drink. Send out for a bottle of the 
best. Mr. Nutkins, would you be so good as to 
fetch those swells out of Box B round to my 
dressing-room? Plam, don’t forget some ginger- 
pop for Orris! And six glasses, Plam! If it 
never happens again, we’ve hit ’em, more by luck 
than judgment, at the Shoreditch Scala first house 
Monday! And if I don’t swank it up in the 
Stage, the Era, the Encore, the Performer and 
the rest, may I never have the name of Jilly Nip- 
chin on the bills again!” 

She ran into her room and banged the door. 
The dresser thought she was crying, but dressers 
— even dressers — are sometimes wrong. Jilly 
was kissing Ed Chauncey’s bouquet, and writing 
out a telegram to the giver thereof. 


CHAPTER V 


“sealskin pianos” * 

I 

Mr. Nipchin, his duties as stage-hand at the 
Waterloo Theatre — otherwise known as the ’Loo 
— finished for the evening, lighted his pipe, turned 
up his coat-collar, nodded a good night to the an- 
cient stage-doorkeeper, and plodded away through 
the rain to the little shop in York Lane where 
Mrs. Nipchin sold cheap cigarettes and cheap lit- 
erature, at a slight loss, to the British public. 

Mr. Nipchin let himself in with his latch-key, 
and proceeded through the shop into the parlour, 
where he found Jilly sitting over the fire with a 
writing-pad and a stump of pencil. 

“ ’Ullo, my lass !” said Mr. Nipchin, eyeing 
with satisfaction the preparations for a hot sup- 
per — sure sign of one of Jilly’s visits. “All alone? 
Where’s yer mother?” 

“Gone to bed, dad.” 

“Wot for?” 

“Said she wanted to have a good cry.” 

* Music-hall term for great wealth. 

132 


SEALSKIN PIANOS’ 


133 


“Wot about ?” 

“Oh, just for fun, I suppose.” 

“She’d better be ’alf take to drink. Less 
weakenin’ fer ’erself, an’ cheerfuller fer those 
as ’as ter live with ’er. Got a bit o’ supper fer 
the old man?” 

“Tripe and onions, dad.” 

“Nort ser dusty. Let’s ’ave it, lass.” 

Mr. Nipchin sat down to the tripe and onions, 
and Jilly went on with her scribbling. There was 
silence in the little parlour, save for the ticking of 
the clock and the clash of battle between Mr. 
Nipchin and his favourite dish. At last, how- 
ever, he sat back, poured out the final pint of 
“ ’alf-an’-’alf,” and filled the final pipe. 

“Writin’?” asked Mr. Nipchin pleasantly. 

“Yes, dad.” 

“Writin’ a play?” 

“No, dad. I’m doing my accounts.” 

“Rather a decent job, eh, Jilly?” 

“Dunno so much about that. I’m not getting 
on, dad.” 

Mr. Nipchin smiled comfortably, and began to 
unlace his boots. 

“Oh, so that’s the lay, is it? Not getting on, 
eh? Ten quid a week fer forty weeks, mind, an’ 
she ain’t getting on ! Orl right, my gal. ’Ave it 
yer own way. On’y don’t ferget the dorg as 
dropped the bone fer the shadder. Thet’s orl.” 


134 


THE GAY LIFE 

“Look here, dad. I know you think I’m mak- 
ing a fortune because I’ve been on tour forty 
weeks with my little sketch. But I’m not, and so 
I tell you straight. How much money would you 
say I had in the Savings Bank?” 

Mr. Nipchin knitted his brows and considered 
the matter. Suddenly he shot out, with the air 
of one who didn’t care much though he should 
be written down a madman: 

“Two ’undered pun!” 

Jilly shook her head. 

“One ’undered?” amended Mr. Nipchin. 

Again she shook her head. 

“Fifty?” 

“Not even fifty, dad. About seventeen quid — 
that’s all.” 

Mr. Nipchin smoked a while in silence. Then 
he delivered judgment. 

“Well, my gal, the money’s yer own, earned 
fair an’ square, an’ you’ve every right ter blew it 
or do it in just as seems good in yer own eye- 
sight. But four ’undered quid in less than a year! 
Four ’undered luvly Jimmy O’Goblins! You an’ 
Orris must ’ave ’ad a beano!” 

“You don’t understand, dad! The ten quid 
isn’t all clear profit. Just run yer eye over this 
account an’ you’ll soon see what I mean.” 

Mr. Nipchin put on his spectacles, took the 
piece of paper, and read as follows: 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS” 135 

“THE SHINING HOUR” 

£. s. d. 

Gross recipes per week . .10. o. o 


Paid to Orther (Ed. Chauncey, Esq.) 1. o. o 

Mr. Plam (Stage-Manager) 2. o. o 

Raleway Fares (ruffly) 1. o. o 

Tips and etc 10. o 

Sent to mother 1. o. o 

Total 5. 10. o 

Left 4. 10. o 

PRIVIT 

£. s. d. 

Digs, and Grub (Orris and Me) .... 2. 10. o 

Togs (self — say) 10. o 

Togs (Orris — say) 5. o 

Pocket-Money (Orris) 2. o 

G. N. W 7. 6 

Total 3. 14. 6 

Paid into Post Office 15. 6 


Week ending June 16. 

(Signed) J. Nipchin. 

Mr. Nipchin studied this document for several 
minutes. Then he inquired: “Wot’s ‘G. N. W.’ 
mean, Jilly ? One o’ them railways up North?” 


THE GAY LIFE 


136 

“No, dad. That just means, ‘God knows 
where.’ All the odds and ends, see?” 

Mr. Nipchin nodded. A good many items of 
his own daily expenditure went down to G. N. W. 

“Well,” was his verdict, handing the paper 
back to Jilly, “I can’t find much fault with that 
balance-sheet. I suppose you must ’ave yer 
brother with yer?” 

“Looks better,” said Jilly, “and it does him 
good. Besides, he’s learning the ropes.” 

“Oh, ’e is, is ’e? An’ wot about this quid you 
pays ter Chauncey?” 

“He didn’t want to take it, but I made him. 
After all, he wrote the sketch, and I don’t wish to 
be beholden to nobody. The trouble is that I 
can’t get a decent town-date for it, and you can 
go on playing round the ‘smalls’ till you’re ninety 
without getting any nearer London.” 

They mused over this problem in silence. Mr. 
Nipchin sought inspiration in his pipe, and Jilly 
in the flames of the fire. 

A sudden rap at the outer door nearly startled 
them out of their wits, for the hour was late. 
Jilly darted through the shop to see what was the 
matter. A District Messenger, with streaming 
cape, blinked in at her. 

“Miss Nipchin live ’ere?” 

“That’s right.” 

“Note for ’er. Wait answer.” 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS” 


i37 


Jilly told the boy to come in out of the wet 
whilst she read the note. 


“Green’s Hotel: 

“June 20. 

“Dear Jilly: 

“I had a bit of a fall to-night at the end of my 
turn, and must lie by for the rest of the week. 
Can you deputize for me Mayfair Stadium to- 
morrow and on? I’ve told them about you and 
it will be all O.K. if you can. 

“Yours, Ed.” 

“I’ll take the answer!” cried Jilly. “Dad! 
Give this kid a tanner, will you? I must pop out 
for half an hour. Don’t sit up, and you needn’t 
bother mother.” 

“Tanner?” repeated Mr. Nipchin dazedly. 
“Pop out! Why it’s pouring cats and dogs!” 

But Jilly was muffled to the eyes and in the 
street before he knew what had happened. She 
ran to the end of York Lane, and was just in 
time to see a man stepping into a taxi. 

“Hi!” yelled Jilly. 

The man turned. 

“Matter of life and death !” panted Jilly. “You 
going far, sir?” 

“Only home, Miss Nipchin.” 

“Love us if it ain’t Dr. Steele! Here’s a bit 
of luck! I say, Ed Chauncey’s fallen off his 


138 THE GAY LIFE 

chairs and hurt himself! Could you come 
along?” 

“Why, certainly,” said the panel-doctor. 

“Bless yer kind eyes! Green’s Hotel, Edgar 
Street, cabby, and the quicker she travels the bet- 
ter for you, my lad!” 

The door banged, the driver bumped through 
his gears, the horn tooted, and the puddles 
swished! They were off! 


II 

“Did you say Chauncey?” asked Dr. Steele, as 
they skidded and side-slipped over Waterloo 
Bridge. 

“That’s right — the famous equilibberist. 

You must have heard of him?” 

“Oh, rather!” said the panel-doctor, to whom 
the name was entirely new. 

“I had a note from him not ten minutes ago. 
He’s at the Mayfair Stadium this week, and he 
had a fall to-night, second house, and sent to see 
if I could deputize for him rest of the week. ‘Bit 
of a fall’ was ’is words, but I want to find out for 
meself. It’s a very dangerous act, yer know, and 
I’ve bin expectin’ this a long time. Ed’s that ven- 
turesome — thinks he can do anything with them 
blessed old chairs of his! I wish he’d chuck it 
and take to something safer. Dogs, or seals, or 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS” 139 

vanishing pigeons — anything of that. He could 
soon pick it up. Got brains, has Ed. But he’s 
that obstinate there’s no telling ’im anything for 
his own good. You know the sort?” 

“Very well,” replied the doctor, smiling to 
himself in the darkness of the cab. Jilly’s little 
secret was already an open book. 

Arrived at Green’s Hotel, Jilly kept the cab 
waiting, and she and the doctor, after explana- 
tions and consultations, were admitted to the hall. 
Then followed more interrogations, and at last it 
occurred to the night-porter, noted as a brainy 
fellow, to go upstairs and see what Mr. Chauncey 
had to say. 

“Old-fashioned place, this,” commented the 
doctor whilst they waited. “No lift, of course, 
and no telephones, apparently, to the bedrooms. 
Very few of such quaint hotels left in London.” 

“I shouldn’t trouble if there was none left,” 
replied Jilly. “Keeping people standing about 
like this I” 

A low whistle from the first-floor landing at- 
tracted their attention. The night-porter was 
leaning over the banisters, very red in the face, 
and beckoning them, in a mysterious manner, to 
ascend. 

“If the lady wouldn’t mind waiting in the sit- 
tin’-room a few minutes,” whispered the night- 
porter hoarsely, “Mr. Chauncey would like a 
word with the doctor fust!” 


140 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Is he much hurt?” whispered Jilly anxiously. 

“Eh?” whispered the night-porter. 

“Is Mr. Chauncey much hurt?” 

“That’s right,” whispered the night-porter. 
“If you’ll wait in the sittin’-room, miss, Mr. 
Chauncey ’ud like a few words with this gen’le- 
man fust.” 

He showed her into a wee sitting-room, with a 
bedroom opening out of it. Jilly tried to allay her 
anxiety by studying nineteen photographs of her- 
self in public and private life with which the man- 
telpiece was adorned. 

A murmur of voices from the bedroom. She 
could easily distinguish Ed’s soft drawl with its 
slight and pleasant American twang. He could 
speak, then! Thank God for that! 

At last the doctor opened the door of the bed- 
room and signalled her to join them. Ed was in 
bed, a dressing-gown about his shoulders, a cigar- 
ette between his fingers, and a glass of something 
refreshing at his elbow. His hair was neatly 
brushed, and he looked anything but a cripple. 

“Why, Jilly, old girl,” he exclaimed, “this is 
mighty good of you ! I never meant you to turn 
out at this time of night — and such a nigger of a 
night! I’d have waited till the morning if I’d 
thought you ” 

“Chuck it!” interrupted Jilly. “What’s the 
news, doctor? Have you examined him?” 

“Oh, yes,” replied Dr. Steele. “It’s nothing 


SEALSKIN PIANOS 1 


very serious, Miss Nipchin. No bones broken. 
Just a — a bit of a twist.” 

“But I can’t go on for the rest of the week,” 
struck in Ed. “Can I, doc?” 

“I should advise Mr. Chauncey to remain 
where he is for the present,” said the doctor. 

“There you are!” cried Ed, with something 
almost like enthusiasm. “So you’ll have to depu- 
tize for me, Jilly! Won’t she, doc?” 

“That I must leave to Miss Nipchin,” observed 
the doctor, and he began to take an extraordinary 
interest in the pictures, 

“You know I will,” said Jilly. 

“That’s good of you, old girl.” 

“Oh, Thomas Rot! You know it’s a fine 
chance for me ! But I wish it ’ad come some other 
way. Poor old Ed!” 

She spoke softly, feeling almost maternal. He 
looked so boyish, lying there in his dressing-gown. 
Jilly even ventured to seat herself at the foot of 
the bed. 

“If you’ll be round there at eleven o’clock,” 
Ed instructed her, in a curiously matter-of-fact 
tone, “and ask for Mr. Herbert, the manager, 
he’ll fix up terms and all that, and then take you 
round to see Prendergast, the stage-manager. 
You’ll find them both fine chaps — old pals of 
mine. You’d better pop back home now, old girl. 
So long, and all the best to-morrow night!” 


142 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Sure there’s nothing I can do for you now?” 
she asked a little wistfully. 

“Not a thing, thanks. Don’t you worry. I 
shall be as right as a trivet in a few days.” 

Still that strange tone ! Was he cross with her 
for being so impetuous? Jilly felt considerably 
chastened when she climbed back into the cab with 
the panel-doctor. 

“By the way,” said Dr. Steele, when he had 
again assured her that there was nothing at all 
serious the matter with Chauncey, “what has be- 
come of that rather tall young lady who was in 
your company when I visited Ilkhampton?” 

“You mean Miss Dinwiddy?” asked Jilly, in- 
stinctively pricking up her ears. 

“I rather think that was the name. A young 
lady with a somewhat deep voice.” 

“Oh, yes, that’s Nell all right. My great 
chum, you know. She’s joined the Westbury 
Repertory — been playing some good parts, too !” 

“I thought her personality might be very well 
suited for certain characters.” 

“Oh, you did, did you?” mused Jilly. “Good 
old Nell! I’ll play this up!” 

Was it a little twinge of conscience? True, 
Nell had declared that Ed was nothing to her, but 
still — well, exchange was no robbery. The panel- 
doctor had once — in a letter — been “hers sin- 
cerely!” And now she was in a cab with him at 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS” 143 

one in the morning, and not a thrill ! Life was a 
rum business and no mistake ! 

“Nell Dinwiddy,” said Jilly stoutly, “is going 
to be one of the first actresses in this country. 
She’s not like me — just a funny little bit. She’s 
a lady, and she’s educated, and her dad was a 
doctor, same as you.” 

“Really?” 

“Yes, reelly. Don’t you make no mistake about 
Nell. She’s the goods, is Nell. Not on’y as a 
actress, mind — as a pal as well!” 

“Ah,” replied the panel-doctor, a little taken 
aback by this outburst. 

“Oh, yes, there’s no getting over that!” con- 
tinued Jilly. “If you knew Nell as well as I do, 
doctor, you’d soon see what a good sort she was ! 
And clever with it! And not a snob like some! 
If I could see dear old Nell spliced to some decent 
chap,” she concluded excitedly, “swop me nob I’d 
die ’appy!” 

“Ah,” said the panel-doctor once again. “This 
is your street, I think.” 

“York Lane? That’s me!” 

She took five shillings from her little bag and 
pressed it into the doctor’s unwilling palm. 

“That’s all right,” urged Jilly, in reply to his 
protests. “This is my outfit. Thanks like any- 
thing for coming along. I shan’t forget it. Good 
night, doctor.” 

Jilly got out of the cab and shut the door. Just 


THE GAY LIFE 


144 

as the driver was letting in his clutch, however, 
she abruptly opened it again. 

“I say, doctor!” 

“Yes, Miss Nipchin?” 

“Would you care to meet my pal Nell?” 

“I should be delighted.” 

“No larks?” 

“Certainly not.” 

“Right O! I’ll fix that! It’s a date! Pop 
along, cabby!” 

Her little head might well be in a whirl as she 
laid it on the pillow. Much had happened, and 
much was about to happen. Yet one thought 
would keep worrying and worrying, like a trou- 
blesome tooth. It was this: Why had Ed sud- 
denly changed in his manner when she wanted to 
be nice to him? Why had he dried up and as 
good as packed her off home? 

What had she done? . . . 

How had she offended him? . . . 

Men were funny. . . . 

And with that tremendous discovery, Jilly fell 
asleep. 


in 

Mrs. Houseboy, that grande dame of varied 
and vast experience, was struggling with the 
strings of her bonnet in front of a broken mirror 
in a very small and dirty dressing-room at the 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS” 145 

Waterside Theatre. The performance of “The 
Stricken Home” was just over, and Mrs. House- 
boy was feeling the want of her bread and cheese 
and a nice glass of stout. 

Came a knock at the door, and the stage door- 
keeper thrust his face into the room. The ex- 
pression on his face was one of consternation min- 
gled with reverential awe. 

“There’s a lady downstairs, mum, asking for 
you.” 

“What name?” demanded Mrs. Houseboy, in 
the lofty manner which never deserted her except 
at railway-stations. 

“Wouldn’t give no name. Said an ole fren’.” 

“I can’t see these anonymous people, my good 
man.” Mrs. Houseboy was not really hard- 
hearted, but shillings, and even sixpences, are 
hard to come by as your career in fifth-rate drama 
draws to a close. 

“Orl right, mum. But she’s a reel lady, mind ! 
Come in a taxi an’ dressed as good as Vesta 
Tilley.” 

“Good gracious! Why didn’t you say so at 
first? Show the lady up at once, you stupid 
man!” 

Mrs. Houseboy snatched off her old bonnet — 
her very oldest, for the night was foggy — groped 
for the powder-puff, found it, dabbed once in the 
middle and once on each side, conjured up a smile 
of welcome, trembled, and sank into a chair. 


1 46 THE GAY LIFE 

A light step on the stairs, a whirl of fur and 
petticoats, and Mrs. Houseboy was being vigor- 
ously hugged by Jilly Nipchin. 

“Well, I never!” panted the old lady, delight- 
edly surveying Jilly from head to foot and back 
again. “To think of its being you, my dear, after 
all these years! Well! Did you ever! And so 
you haven’t forgotten your old pal in spite of all 
your success?” 

“Oh, chuck that!” replied Jilly. “Glad I 
caught you ! I’ve got a taxi waiting, and you’ve 
got to come straight along to my place and have 
a bit of supper ! I’ll take no refusal, mind !” 

“Oh, but, my dear, I’m not prepared for ” 

“Prepared be jiggered! If you don’t come, 
Jack Titmuss can’t come, and you’ll be a reg’lar 
old Spoil-Sport!” 

Without another word, she tucked her arm in- 
side the old lady’s, clapped the bonnet on her 
head, swept her down the stairs, and into the taxi. 
Jack Titmuss, the little comedian with the up- 
turned nose, sprang in after them, and away they 
went. 

“I saw you were billed for the Kennington 
Marathonium,” said Mr. Titmuss, “and I ’oped 
we might see something of you. She’s not the 
sort ter ferget ole pals, is she, Mrs. H.?” 

“I’ll thank you not to ‘Mrs. H.’ me, sir! 
Houseboy is my name, as you know very well, and 
when my poor husband was alive there was no 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS” 147 

name in the profession better known nor more 
respected!” 

“No offence,” muttered the little comedian 
humbly. 

“No, I daresay not,” retorted the old lady. 
“You may take your liberties on the stage, Mr. 
Titmuss; that I can’t prevent, although I con- 
sider gagging a disgrace to the profession. But 
in private life I’ll thank you to remember that 
I’m just as much a lady as people getting their 
twenties, and their fifties, and their hundreds !” 

“Titmuss,” said Jilly, “you’re an idiot.” 

“Jilly,” replied Titmuss, “I knows it.” 

“Then that’s all settled.” And Jilly devoted 
the remainder of the drive to getting the grande 
dame into a thoroughly good temper. 

The cab pulled up at a block of mansions in 
the West End, and they ascended to the third 
floor in a noiseless lift. The door of Jilly’s flat 
was opened by a neat maid, and the little party 
entered a cosy sitting-room with a table laid for 
supper. Mr. Jack Titmuss and Mrs. Houseboy 
glanced at each other, and glanced at the room, 
and glanced at Jilly, but not a word was said to 
suggest that they were accustomed to less elegant 
surroundings. Mrs. Houseboy accompanied Jilly 
into her bedroom, presently returning with a 
handsome shawl about her shoulders of which she 
affected to be entirely unaware. Mr. Titmuss, 
in the meantime, strummed a few bars on the 


THE GAY LIFE 


148 

piano, checked himself on the point of addressing 
the maid as “miss,” and finally helped himself, in 
the perfect stage manner, to a large whisky and a 
tiny splash of soda. After the first gulp, he felt 
that he always lived like this. 

They dragged Jilly’s news out of her over the 
supper-table — how she had deputized for Ed 
Chauncey at the Mayfair Stadium and made a 
hit; how she had been booked up for three years 
at a moderate salary; how she had abandoned her 
“Shining Hour” sketch, after a while, for a quaint 
little monologue, half laughter and half tears; 
how she was nearing the end of her three years’ 
contract and had an offer to renew on similar 
terms. 

“Don’t you do it, my dear!” advised Mrs. 
Houseboy, genteelly poising a glass of port in 
mid-air, and nodding her head several times 'ridth 
great emphasis. “Don’t you do it! You’ve made 
your name, Jilly, my love, and you’re a draw! 
Take my advice, as one who’s spent a lifetime on 
the boards, and stick out for Big Money!” 

The dear old lady, in her palmiest days, had 
never touched more than two pounds a week. 

“That’s right,” agreed Mr. Titmuss, airily 
picking his teeth with a wooden match. His man- 
ners had become more and more aristocratic as 
the evening progressed. “Mrs. H. — ’Ouseboy, I 
should say — is quite right. Big Money, Jilly, old 
dear! That’s you!” 


SEALSKIN PIANOS’ 


“All very well,” replied Jilly, “but you can’t 
get over a certain figure unless you simply knock 
’em sideways. It’s the big chance that brings the 
big money; that’s my opinion.” 

“Oh, well,” summed up Mrs. Houseboy, “it’s — 
Excuse me, my dear. The lobster ! — sure to come 
your way, sooner or later. And how are all at 
home? Well, I hope?” 

“Never better! My brother Horace, you 
know, has joined the profession.” 

“You don’t say!” 

“Oh, yes. The business side. He’s under Mr. 
Taylor at the Shoreditch Scala, and doing quite 
well. The old folks are still in York Lane. 
Dad’s given up the ’Loo, but I couldn’t tear him 
away from the little shop, so there they are, 
pretty snug. I often see them, but I felt I had to 
have a place of me own.” 

“Of course you had! Only right!” 

“There! Now that’s enough about me. I 
want to hear all the news about the old lot.” 

So Mrs. Houseboy and Jack Titmuss told it 
together, interrupting each other and contradict- 
ing each other in the jolliest manner, without the 
slightest chance of a fight. Miss Dulcie Link 
was married and gone to live in Newcastle. She 
was very well married. No, they never saw any- 
thing of her, but she had been observed in front 
one night, with a black eye. The concluding item 
from Mr. Titmuss, who had called the maid 


THE GAY LIFE 


150 

“miss” after all, and was trying to atone for it by 
displaying his knowledge of high life. 

Mr. Garland was either in gaol or Australia; 
they were not quite sure which, but had been 
heard of in both. Miss Dinwiddy, as Jilly knew, 
was doing splendid work with the Westbury Rep- 
ertory, and Mr. Plam, as usual, was somewhere 
on the road. 

“And who plays my old part in ‘The Home’?” 
asked Jilly. It being strictly unprofessional to 
give a play its full title. 

“Oh,” Mrs. Houseboy told her, with genuine 
feeling, “such a sad case, Jilly. A little girl named 
Dorothy Hollis. She’s nothing like you, of 
course; there’ll never be another Jilly Nipchin. 
But she’s a nice little thing, and keeps her mother 
and two little sisters. How she does it we can’t 
think, but she does, and the poor child’s as thin 
as a rake and got such a cough ! Every one tells 
her she ought to take a week out, but she won’t. 
‘Can’t afford it’- — that’s all she says.” 

Mrs. Houseboy wiped away a sympathetic tear, 
and Jack Titmuss wiped away two. Then they 
rose, and Mr. Titmuss begged the privilege of 
seeing Mrs. Houseboy to her door. This offer 
being accepted, Jilly telephoned for a cab and 
insisted on paying the fare before they started. 

At her last glimpse of them, Mrs. Houseboy 
was weeping happily on the shoulder of Jack Tit- 
muss, and the little comedian was patting her 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS’ 


soothingly with his left hand, whilst endeavouring 
to dry his own eyes and light a cigarette with 
the right. 


IV 

The picture of Dorothy Hollis was in Jilly’s 
mind as she fell asleep; it came to her in her 
dreams; it was with her as she took her warm 
bath in the morning, put on her nice clothes, and 
ate her comfortable breakfast. 

“Not so many years ago,” she reflected, “and I 
was just as poor as that kid, and playing the 
same part. But I was strong, and she isn’t. So 
now, Jilly Nipchin, what are you going to do 
about it? Offer her money? The chances are 
she wouldn’t take it. It’s a hard case.” 

The idea — the Great Idea that was to have 
such an important bearing on the whole of Jilly’s 
own career — came to her with the act of drinking 
her second cup of tea. Jilly put down her cup 
and dashed to the telephone. 

“Mr. Nutkins in?” 

Mr. Bertie Nutkins had risen to be Acting Man- 
ager of the Kennington Marathonium. 

“Yes. Who’s speaking?” 

“Jilly Nipchin.” 

“Oh . . . just a moment, Miss Nipchin. I’ll 
tell Mr. Nutkins.” . . . (Then rather faintly) 
“Bertie! Wanted on the phone! Hurry up! 


THE GAY LIFE 


152 

Miss Nipchin!” . . . (Then the voice of Mr. 
Nutkins, a little hoarse, as though Mr. Nutkins 
had rolled out of bed and scrambled to the tele- 
phone in his pyjamas) . . . “How do you do, 
Miss Nipchin?” 

“I’m all O. K., thanks. Sorry to drag you out 
of bed!” 

“Oh, that’s all right. I’ve been up hours and 
hours!” 

“Yes, I know — last night. I say, Bertie, old 
dear, I want you to do me a great favour, will 
you?” 

“You know that anything I can do for you, 

Jilly ” (And then the first voice, in a distant 

tone) “Oh, come off your perch!” 

“Thanks. I didn’t know you were married!” 

“I’m not! That’s my idiot of a sister!” . . . 
(Then in a muffled tone : “Get out of it, Maggie, 
or I’ll punch your head!”) 

“Don’t hurt her,” said Jilly. “Look here, old 
chap, what time can you get down to the theatre ? 
I want to see you on an urgent matter of busi- 
ness !” 

“As soon as you like.” 

“Say eleven?” 

“I’ll be there to the tick!” 

And there he was to the tick, with a silk hat, 
and patent-leather boots, and a flower in his but- 
tonhole, and a cigarette. If ever a man was cer- 
tain to come out on the roof ! 


SEALSKIN PIANOS” 


153 

Jilly went into his office, and talked to him for 
ten minutes very earnestly. Mr. Nutkins rang up 
his Board of Management and talked to them, for 
ten minutes, very earnestly. The reply being fa- 
vourable, Jilly and Mr. Bertie Nutkins went 
across to the Waterside Theatre, found the two 
managers, and talked to them, for ten minutes, 
very earnestly. All being in good trim, Jilly took 
cab to the home of Miss Dorothy Hollis. 

It was a poor enough home — two rooms and a 
gas-cooker at the top of a dingy, dirty house. 
The mother opened the door, and the sound of 
coughing told Jilly that her little successor was 
within. 

“Who are you?” demanded the mother. 

“My name is Nipchin. May I see Miss Hollis 
a moment?” 

“What about?” 

“I have an important message for her from the 
Waterside Theatre.” 

“Why couldn’t they write it?” 

“Well, I offered to bring it.” 

“Are you in the profession?” 

“Yes.” 

“I thought as much. You want to be able to 
say she’s ill, I suppose, and then get her job 1” 

“No, I don’t. I’ve got a job. I want to help 
her, if she’ll let me.” 

“She don’t want no charity.” 

“I’m not offering her charity.” 


154 


THE GAY LIFE 


“What’s your business, then?” 

“I’ll tell that to Miss Hollis herself, if I may.” 

Curiosity conquered. The woman stood aside, 
and Jilly entered the main room. Dorothy, half- 
dressed, was lying on a bed in the corner, evi- 
dently trying to stifle her cough. Two smaller 
girls were playing with some battered dolls in 
another corner. 

Jilly begged the young actress not to disturb 
herself, and took a seat by the side of the bed. 

“I’m Jilly Nipchin,” she began. “Perhaps 
you’ve heard of me from Mrs. Houseboy or 
Jack Titmuss?” 

“Oh, yes,” replied Dorothy. “I’ve often heard 
of you.” She was a shy, gentle little thing, very 
different from her surly mother. 

“I’m glad of that, because you can assure your 
mother that I’m not after your job.” 

The girl smiled between her coughs. 

“After my job? Why, mother, Miss Nipchin 
is a star on the halls!” 

“Then why couldn’t she say so?” retorted Mrs. 
Hollis. 

“Well, for one thing,” returned Jilly, with 
something of her usual manner, “I’m not exactly 
a star, though I’m not exactly among the wines 
and spirits, either. For another thing, I don’t 
like shouting about myself on public staircases.” 

“All right. No offence,” muttered Mrs. 
Hollis. 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS” 155 

“IPs in this way, dear,” went on Jilly. “I hap- 
pened to hear from Mrs. Houseboy that you 
were not very well, and would be all the better 
for a rest. The nipper in ‘The Home,’ you know, 
was my first part, and we always love our first 
parts — if we made good in ’em. So I saw my 
chance. I’m at the Marathonium, just over the 
way, this week, and I can fit in my bits there as 
easy as easy! I’ve fixed it all with the managers 
and people. So will you be a little sport and let 
me play your part for you the rest of the week?” 

“And what about the money?” cut in Mrs. 
Hollis sharply. 

“As to that,” said Jilly, giving her a shrewd 
look, '7 shan’t take it, Mrs. Hollis.” 

“Oh!” Mrs. Hollis considered. “Well, there’s 
no denying that a bit of a rest would do Dorothy 
good, but we don’t want ‘The Stricken Home’ 
people to get the idea she’s an invalid. They 
might find another girl by Monday.” 

“If they do,” said Jilly, “and Dorothy will 
come to me, I think I can promise her a better 
job.” 

“Come, that’s talking,” admitted the mother. 
“Thank Miss Nipchin, Dorothy. Why, what are 
you crying about?” 

What, indeed? What should she have to cry 
about? Yet crying she was, and the tears flowed 
faster when Jilly slipped from her chair to the 


1 56 THE GAY LIFE 

side of the bed, put her arms about the girl, and 
kissed her tenderly. 

Mrs. Hollis, out of whom misfortune and hard- 
ship had not quite battered all the graces of life, 
retired to the other room and called the younger 
children after her. Jilly waited until the sobs 
subsided. 

“There,” she murmured soothingly, “now 
that’s all over. D’you know, Dorothy, I should 
like you to be a pal of mine; will you?” 

Dorothy’s arm, very shyly, went round Jilly’s 
neck. 

“That’s right. I want you to come and spend 
an evening with me. We’ll hop across from the 
Waterside to the Marathonium and back, and 
have great larks! And then, if your mother 
doesn’t mind, you must come back with me to my 
little place, and we’ll have some of the boys and 
girls up, and make a party of it! It’ll be a little 
change for you — especially if you can stay two or 
three days. And we’ll try to fix up something 
better for you, and all sorts of stunts. What 
d’you say?” 

“You are a — a ripper!” was what Dorothy 
said. 

“Then it’s all settled. And you look better al- 
ready. Say good-bye to your mother for me, and 
here’s something to get the kiddies some sweets. 
So long!” 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS’’ 157 

Another sovereign went down in the “G. N. 
W.” list at the end of the week. 

The chances are, He did. 


V 

Mr. Austin Dawes, dramatic critic of the Daily 
Wireless , felt a little jaded. He had witnessed 
three new productions in the West End of Lon- 
don in as many consecutive nights, and was now 
wondering whether to drown himself or go to a 
music-hall. 

Mr. Austin Dawes lighted a cigar, wandered 
out of the club, and found himself on the Embank- 
ment. One of the plays had had epigrams in it, 
first stolen and then spoilt; the audience had loved 
them. The second play had had “costumes” in 
it, and a hero with padded calves who said “Lud” ; 
the audience had voted him a perfect dear. The 
third play had been true to life — real people, real 
dialogue, a really interesting theme worked out 
in a witty way to a logical conclusion; the audi- 
ence had been bored to desperation. The river 
looked good to Mr. Austin Dawes. 

But his cigar, for the moment, had attractions, 
so he strolled over Westminster Bridge, and bore, 
presently, to the right. A crowd attracted his 
attention — a crowd pushing its way into the old 
Waterside Theatre. Austin Dawes turned into 


THE GAY LIFE 


158 

the vestibule and found an oldish man in dirty 
gold braid crying: 

“Stalls this way, please! This way to the 
stalls!” 

“What’s the excitement?” asked Mr. Austin 
Dawes. 

“Beg pardon, sir?” The man had heard the 
question perfectly, but the ears are often quicker 
than the intelligence. 

“Anything special on? You seem busy.” 

“Busy, sir? I should say so! Stalls this way, 
please! This way to the stalls! Best business 
we’ve done since I dunno when! Stalls this 
way!” 

“Old enough play, isn’t it?” 

The man stared. 

“ ’Aven’t you ’eard?” he asked at last, adding, 
in a confidential, fatherly tone, “This way to the 
stalls ! Stalls this way, please !” 

“I’m afraid not. I come from over the water.” 
Meaning the River Thames and not the Atlantic 
Ocean. 

“Oh, well, that explains it. Why, we’ve got 
Jilly Nipchin ’ere ; playing the nipper ! My word, 
she ain’t ’alf droll neither! Stalls this way, 
please! Larf? You shud ’a bin ’ere lawst night! 
This way to the stalls !” 

“But I thought she was on the halls?” 

“So she is — Marrythonium — just dahn the 
road. She’s workin’ both ’ahses. Little gal ’ere 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS’ 


fell ill, an’ Miss Nipchin’s takin’ ’er place for nix! 
Stalls this way, please ! The story got round, and 
you can’t ’ardly get in to either place. This way 
for the stalls, please !” 

Mr. Austin Dawes knew the name of Jilly 
Nipchin in print, but he had never seen her per- 
formance. So he bought a “Standing-Room 
Only” ticket, and passed into the suffocating at- 
mosphere of the theatre. 

A few minutes later, Jilly made her first en- 
trance, and the audience gave her a great recep- 
tion. As the man in the dirty gold braid said, the 
story had got round — Mr. Bertie Nutkins may 
have had something to do with that — and the 
kindly act went to the hearts of these struggling 
people. 

She played the part in her old way, but her 
technique was now at hand to help. It was a 
grotesque performance, a rough-and-tumble affair, 
a combination of impudence and jollity; but it 
suited the play and it suited the audience. Mr. 
Austin Dawes saw the cleverness of it, but he 
was disappointed. He had hoped for a genuine 
discovery, and there was no spark of genius in 
this. 

The first act over, he was glad to get out of 
the auditorium and smoke a cigarette on the pave- 
ment. His friend in the gold braid was busily 
displaying the “HOUSE FULL” boards, brush- 
ing the cobwebs off them with the tail of his coat. 


160 THE GAY LIFE 

“Where else did you say,” asked Mr. Austin 
Dawes, “that Miss Nipchin was appearing?” 

“Eh? Oh! Oh, yes! At the Marrythonium 
— just dahn the road there — where you can see 
that there bright light.” 

“What time does she come on there?” 

The man scratched his head, removing his 
peaked cap for the purpose. 

“Nah, let’s see. She works the first ’ahse, yer 
see, afore she comes on ’ere. Then she finishes 
up ’ere abaht ten^twenty, an’ gets back there for 
the second ’ahse about ’alf-past ten. Thank you 
kindly, sir. Yes, that’s the Marrythonium, where 
you can see that there bright light.” 

Mr. Austin Dawes strolled on. He had had 
quite enough of “The Stricken Home.” It is to 
be feared that he found Mr. Jack Titmuss and 
Mrs. Houseboy a little tedious, but these worthy 
players were making good with the crowded audi- 
ence, and had taken a fresh lease of life. 

At ten-fifteen, Mr. Dawes was at the back of 
the circle at the Marathonium, wedged between a 
fat man with a very vile cigar, and an unhealthy 
youth who brought the smoke of a cheap cigar- 
ette out of all parts of his head until he looked 
like a damp bonfire. 

At ten-thirty Jilly came on. She looked at the 
house, and the house became as still as death. 
She held them like that whilst she took some 
plates from a shelf — the scene was a kitchen — 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS” 161 

and then she made one little remark. It was so 
quick that Dawes missed it, but the house was 
ready and the house roared. Then another si- 
lence, followed by another burst of delight. 

She sang three lines of a song as she washed 
the plates — a simple, familiar little song. Then 
she stopped, abruptly, and wiped the corners of 
her eyes with her apron. The fat man with the 
vile cigar did the same. An instant later, his 
head was back and his hat falling off with the 
force of his laughter. 

For fifteen minutes the sketch-monologue went 
on, and a little story was gradually developed. 
But it was not the story that held the people. It 
was personality, temperament, genius — call it 
what you will. In the slang of the profession, 
Jilly had “got it.” Never mind where she had 
got it. These things just happen. 

Mr. Austin Dawes, with the shouts still in his 
ears, and the picture of the little smiling and nod- 
ding figure in his eyes, went out of the Mara- 
thonium and took cab to the offices of the Daily 
Wireless. 

“Hullo, Dawes!” said Mr. Seabrook, the 
editor. 

“Hullo!” replied Dawes. 

“You look excited. Take a cigarette.” 

“Thanks!” 

“Got something good?” 

“Yes.” 


1 62 


THE GAY LIFE 


“News?” 

“No. Fourth Page.” 

“Tell me about it in a minute.” 

The minute over, which meant forty minutes, 
Austin Dawes endeavoured to impart his enthusi- 
asm to Mr. Seabrook. He failed, but he obtained 
permission to write his column. 

It appeared the next morning but one. It was 
called, “The Genius of Jilly Nipchin.” They all 
read it. Mr. Nipchin read it to Mrs. Nipchin 
and Orris, whereupon Mrs. Nipchin wept with ex- 
ceeding bitterness, and Orris whooped for joy and 
got cuffed. Mr. Ilott read it, and made a note 
to call on Miss Nipchin that very night and offer 
his services for future work — as Jilly had pre- 
dicted years before. Miss Dinwiddy read it in 
far away Westbury, and at once despatched a 
long telegram of warning. Mr. Plam read it 
somewhere on the road, and also sent a tele- 
gram. Miss Dulcie Link read it, and decided to 
ask Jilly to “stee” with her at some future “deet.” 

Ed Chauncey read it, and expended an hour 
and a half trying to get through to London on the 
phone. Mr. Bertie Nutkins read it, cut it out, 
framed it, and made a man stand outside the 
Marathonium with it so that all who passed by 
should read, at least, the heading. 

But, most important of all to Jilly, two people 
read it who were rivals in the music-hall business. 
One was Mr. Hovenden, Managing Director of 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS” 163 

the Earth Limited. The other was Mr. Purkiss, 
Managing Director of the United Firmament. 
Both these gentlemen were millionaires. Both 
could send a shiver through the Variety World by 
raising an eyebrow or lowering an eyelash. Each 
loved the other like a brother. 

Mr. Hovenden, having read the article, 
touched a bell. Forty people at once sprang to 
attention. Thirty-nine had palpitations, and the 
fortieth answered the bell. 

“Mr. Lobb,” said Mr. Hovenden, indicating 
the paper with the article marked in blue pencil. 
“Tell him to go to-night.” 

Mr. Purkiss, having read the article, also 
touched a bell. Three typists immediately died 
of heart-disease. 

“Get on to the Kennington Marathonium. Tell 
them I want a box first house to-night.” 

“Very good, sir.” 

Mr. Bertie Nutkins took the message. He re- 
plied that all the boxes were sold. In fact, the 
house was sold out. Could nothing be done ? 
Nothing. 

“I don’t know whether I mentioned,” said the 
voice, “that Mr. Purkiss himself wants the box.” 

“Himself?” gasped Bertie Nutkins. 

“Certainly.” 

“Why in the world didn’t you say so before? 
I’ll get one back if I have to bribe the present 
customer out of my own pocket!” 


THE GAY LIFE 


164 

Be very sure that Mr. Nutkins was on the mat 
when the great man arrived. Be very sure that 
Mr. Nutkins showed the great man to his box 
as though he were all the monarchs of Europe 
rolled into one. 

Mr. Purkiss sat through Jilly’s turn without 
moving a muscle. When it was over, and whilst 
she was still taking her calls, he despatched an 
attendant for Mr. Nutkins. That young gentle- 
man obeyed the summons so quickly that he nearly 
killed a constant patron of the hall who was mak- 
ing for the bar. 

“Are you Mr. Nutkins?” asked Purkiss. 

“I am, sir.” 

“I like the way you run your house.” 

“Thank you very much, sir.” 

“May I have the loan of your private office for 
five minutes?” 

“With the greatest pleasure, sir.” 

“Thank you. I think I noticed Mr. Lobb at 
the side of the stalls.” 

“Quite right, Mr. Purkiss. Mr. Lobb is 
here.” 

“I wish to speak to Mr. Lobb. Do you think 
you could get hold of him for me?” 

“Certainly, sir.” 

“At once?” 

Mr. Purkiss looked hard at the young manager, 
and Bertie Nutkins knew that this was a crucial 
incident of his career. 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS’ 


165 

“At once, sir.” 

“Then do it. Take him to your office, and 
keep him there till I come.” 

Mr. Nutkins was away like a flash. He found 
Lobb making his way out at the front. 

“Hello, Mr. Lobb!” called Bertie. “Are you 
off?” 

“Just going round to the back for a moment.” 

“Could you spare me a second?” 

“If it’s anything important, my boy.” 

“It is. Mr. Purkiss is here, and ” 

“Purkiss ? I never saw him !” 

“Well, he saw you, and he wants to have a chat 
with you in my office. Can you come up?” 

Mr. Lobb reflected. Eight pounds a week. 
Twice eight made sixteen. Say twenty, in round 
figures. Earth Limited had never treated him too 
well. He was a smart man, and Purkiss had 
discovered it. 

“Right,” said Mr. Lobb, and they climbed the 
stairs. 

Mr. Purkiss, evidently, was not in such a tear- 
ing hurry. He kept Mr. Lobb waiting, in point 
of fact, nearly half an hour. At the end of that 
time, the great man walked in, smiling affably. 

“Evening, Mr. Lobb.” 

“Good evening, Mr. Purkiss.” 

“Sorry to keep you waiting. I’ve been for a 
little drive.” 

Mr. Lobb and Mr. Nutkins jumped. 


THE GAY LIFE 


1 66 

“Yes,” continued Mr. Purkiss, “I drove Miss 
Nipchin round to the old Waterside. Nice little 
turn, Mr. Lobb?” 

“Very nice,” agreed Lobb, beginning to feel 
rather ill. 

“Glad you think so.” He took a piece of paper 
from his pocket. It looked so like one of the 
United Firmament’s contract-forms that Mr. 
Lobb had to support himself with the back of a 
chair. 

“And a very clever little business woman,” 
went on Mr. Purkiss. “Three years — forty weeks 
in each year — thirty-five a week the first year, 
forty-five the second year, fifty-five the third year. 
And no agents. That girl will get on if she’s care- 
ful. Well, good night, Mr. Lobb. Remember 
me to Mr. Hovenden. Good night, Mr. Nutkins. 
I like the way you manage your house.” 

“By the way,” said Jilly, talking it all over a 
few days later with Ed Chauncey, “I’ve got two 
bones to pick with you. They’ve been waiting to 
be picked for a goodish time.” 

“Go ahead,” replied Ed. 

“That night you had the accident. Why did 
you bustle me out of the hotel like a naughty 
child?” 

“Did I?” 

“You know you did.” 


“SEALSKIN PIANOS” 167 

“Sorry. I guess I must have been in consider- 
able pain.” 

“Oh, no, you weren’t. That brings me to the 
second bone. The accident was a fake.” 

“Get along!” retorted Ed. 

“You can’t spoof me, you men! I put it 
straight, just like that, to Dr. Steele. He tried 
hard to deny it, but I read him like an eighteen- 
sheet poster. It was good of you, Ed, but you 
shouldn’t have done it. And, anyway, you needn’t 
have snubbed me when I wanted to mother you.” 

“Do you know what it feels like to be a fraud?” 

“I might have, but, as it happened, I filled the 
bill for you all right.” 

“I know. I don’t mean that sort of fraud. I 
mean, gettin’ sympathy and all that when you 
don’t deserve it.” 

“Oh,” said Jilly. “And to think I ” She 

was about to add, “lay awake half the night, 
worrying.” 

“You what?” asked Ed. 

“Never mind,” replied Jilly. 


CHAPTER VI 


cat’s cradle 

I 

Jilly was frightened. 

This statement, made of an average young 
woman, would surprise nobody; your average 
young woman is very often frightened. Applied 
to Jilly, it assumes an extraordinary significance. 
Here is the first time, is it not, that any mention 
has been made of such a thing as fear in connec- 
tion with Jilly Nipchin? 

Anyhow, she was frightened. She was fright- 
ened because she had made up her mind to do a 
terrifying thing. She was going to make a cer- 
tain communication to Miss Eleanor Dinwiddy, 
of the sepulchral voice. Miss Dinwiddy, cer- 
tainly, was still Jilly’s greatest friend; that made 
Jilly’s task all the more terrifying. 

Yet it had to be done. Things could not go on 
like this. The happiness of four lives — no less 
than four — was at stake. If Jilly bungled her 
self-imposed mission, four people might be made 
miserable for life. Can you wonder that she 
trembled as she thrust the pins into her hat? 

1 68 


CAT’S CRADLE 


169 

“Jilly Nipchin,” said Jilly to herself in the 
glass, “you’re a semi-detached idiot! You’re a 
little funk and a microscopic blighter! If some- 
body came and told you at this moment that Nell 
Dinwiddy was not in town after all, but had gone 
back to Westbury, you’d be simply delighted! 
For shame, Jilly Nipchin, you white-faced cat! Is 
that what you call friendship? Is that playing 
the Big Game that you’ve sworn to yourself al- 
ways to play? Is it? Yes or no, miss! No, it 
ain’t” 

“I shall feel braver,” she thought, “as soon as 
I get started. I’ll walk to Nell’s; it’s better’n 
waiting about here getting me feet more an’ more 
froze ! Buck up, my dear, or the lift-man’ll begin 
to think of his troubles an’ p’r’aps break both yer 
necks !” 

She felt better in the fresh air, as every one 
does. But she could not help musing, as she 
walked along, of the great problem to be solved 
before Miss Dinwiddy returned to her repertory 
work at Westbury. 

“Funny thing,” thought Jilly, “all this Love! 
/ never knew I was going to fall in love with Ed. 
Never dreamt of such a thing. Made sure he was 
Nell’s property and wanted to be. It’s Ed’s fault, 
the fat-head! Why couldn’t he say straight out 
whether it was me or Nell he was after? For the 
matter o’ that, he never has said which it is ! It 
might be Nell after all! I shouldn’t mind! I 


THE GAY LIFE 


170 

should like to see dear old Nell settled and happy. 
She deserves it, if ever a girl did. So I shouldn’t 
mind. Not a bit. I should on’y drown meself. 
Wonder what it’s like, bein’ drowned! Fine ad, 
anyway! Wonder if Ed would care? Oh, dash 
the man! And dash Love! Soppy nonsense, I 
call it! Dash everything but work!” 

The window of a photographer’s shop caught 
her eye. Having more than enough time, Jilly 
stopped to peep in. The first thing she saw, after 
her own pretty reflection, was Ed Chauncey, the 
Equilibrist of World-Wide Fame, staring straight 
at her. Jilly’ s heart thumped and bumped like a 
taxi with a broken spring. What ripping eyes he 
had! And what a nice mouth! And a lovely chin! 
And what a Something there was about the whole 

cut of him that made any one ! “Oh, get 

along, J. Nipchin, and stop yer silly nonsense!” 

She found Miss Dinwiddy at breakfast. Miss 
Dinwiddy informed her, in tones of gloom, that 
she was quite well. 

“Looks a nice part,” observed Jilly, indicating 
a thick wad of typescript, bound in ragged brown 
paper, that was propped against the teapot. 

“Yes, dear, it’s a fat part,” admitted Miss 
Dinwiddy with a deep sigh. “Rachel in ‘The Bitter 
Cup.’ I’ve always wanted to play it. Now I’ve 
got it I shall ruin it.” 

“Nonsense! You’ll be lovely in it! Just your 
style !” 


CAT’S CRADLE 


171 

“Thank you, dear, but I know I shall ruin it. 
Never mind. Tell me about your own troubles.” 

“Oh, I haven’t got any troubles.” Miss Din- 

widdy seemed downcast. “Well, except ” 

Miss Dinwiddy brightened. 

“Yes, dear? Except what?” 

“Well, you know the sort of silly troubles that 
girls have. Oh, why couldn’t they have made the 
world without any men in it!” 

“Jilly,” said Miss Dinwiddy hopefully, “you 
alarm me!” 

“There’s nothing to be alarmed about,” Jilly 
assured her. “Only I’ve bin fool enough to get 
rather sweet on another girl’s man.” 

She spoke carelessly, but Miss Dinwiddy was 
not deceived. She knew Jilly’s temperament. If 
she cared, she would care with all her heart and 
soul. She would care so much that all her future 
would depend upon the outcome. 

Miss Dinwiddy rose, went across to Jilly, and 
put her arm about her. 

“Tell me, dear,” she said gently. 

“I don’t know as I can,” replied Jilly. “Yer 
see, Nell, it’s a bit of a bloomin’ mix-up!” 

“Is he married, dear?” 

“Oh, Lor’, no! It isn’t as bad as that!” 

“Engaged?” 

“No, nor even engaged, so far as I know. But 
the girl’s a pal of mine. That’s what makes it so 
rotten.” 


172 


THE GAY LIFE 


“I quite understand, dear,” said Miss Din- 
widdy. 

“I wonder if you really do, Nell?” 

“Yes, dear, I’m sure I do. I — I wish I didn’t.” 

“Wish you didn’t? This is a new stunt! 
What’s up, Nell? What’s the game?” 

“Well, dear, I’m in something of the same fix 
myself.” 

“You?” 

Jilly sat back and stared at her friend in horror. 
If Nell was in the same fix, that meant that Nell 
was in love with some other girl’s man. But Nell 
was in love with Ed Chauncey. But Ed Chaun- 
cey was not Jilly’s man. So Ed Chauncey must be 
some other girl’s man ! There was a third girl in 
it ! Five all told ! Small wonder that Jilly stared 
at Miss Dinwiddy with her grey eyes opened to 
their fullest extent. 

Miss Dinwiddy, making the most of the situa- 
tion, rose and walked across to the window. 
There was nothing in the street worth looking at, 
so she folded her arms across her chest and stared, 
with intense gloom, at a dust-bin. The whole atti- 
tude was perfect for almost any scene in “The 
Bitter Cup.” 

“My!” said Jilly at last. “This is a wunner, 
this is!” 

“We are all,” chanted Miss Dinwiddy, glaring 
at the dust-bin, “puppets on the Stream of Time !” 

“Betcher life!” agreed Jilly. 


CAT’S CRADLE 


i73 

“This thing,” went on Miss Dinwiddy, scowl- 
ing so savagely at a small errand-boy who came 
between her and the dust-bin that the wretched 
urchin slunk off with his basket over his head, 
“has been hanging over me, like the sword of 
Damocles, for months and months!” 

“Same here,” said Jilly. 

“Sleeping it has haunted my dreams! Waking 
it has ” 

“Bin just as much nuisance,” suggested Jilly. 
“I know, old sort!” 

Silence. An itinerant musician, sighting his 
opportunity, pitched immediately opposite the 
window, right in front of the dust-bin, and began 
to play “Abide With Me” on the cornet. His 
eyes, almost starting from their sockets in his 
lugubrious energy, were fixed intently on Miss Din- 
widdy. She moved away from the window with 
an impatient gesture. 

“Look here,” suddenly observed Jilly, as 
though inspired by the music, “I’ve got an idea! 
You write the name of your man on a piece of 
paper, and I’ll do the same. Then we’ll exchange 
and see if anything comes of it.” 

“I know what will come of it,” moaned Miss 
Dinwiddy. 

“Wot?” 

“Broken friendship, dear! Perhaps broken 
hearts !” 

“Well, let’s try, an’ chance it! Shall we?” 


174 


THE GAY LIFE 


“If you like, dear.” 

Miss Dinwiddy produced pencils and paper. 
Each girl wrote a name, folded her paper, and 
handed it to the other. 

“One moment,” stipulated Miss Dinwiddy. 
“Before you open that, Jilly, swear that the man 
whose name I have written shall never know of 
this!” 

Jilly wet her finger and drew it across her 
throat. Miss Dinwiddy, not to be outdone, raised 
her right hand towards the ceiling. Then they 
opened the papers. 


II 

Mrs. Todds, Miss Dinwiddy’ s landlady, was in 
the act of drying a breakfast cup when she heard 
a loud shriek. Down went the breakfast-cup to 
the stone floor, and up came Mrs. Todds to the 
front parlour. Throwing open the door and rush- 
ing into the room without ceremony, Mrs. Todds, 
instead of beholding a corpse or two at her feet, 
saw her staid lodger being violently hugged by a 
small young woman with reddish hair. For a 
moment, Mrs. Todds thought the small young 
woman might be trying to strangle her lodger, but 
the lodger’s smiles, though mingled with tears, 
quashed this exciting prospect. 

Mrs. Todds, therefore, took it upon herself to 
be cross. 


CAT’S CRADLE 


i7S 

“Well, I never! That’s a nice thing, that is! 
Screamin’ out like that an’ all about nothing an’ 
makin’ me go an’ smash one o’ the best brekfuss- 
cups which they can’t be matched try where you 
may! I should be ashamed, Miss Dinwiddy, to 
have such visitors! A nice quiet ladylike young 
woman like you! Keep away from me, you mad 
thing! Don’t you dare to come nigh me!” 

But the warning was in vain, for Jilly had al- 
ready thrown her small arms round the waist of 
Mrs. Todds, and was compelling that lady to exe- 
cute a slow but undignified two-step, to the accom- 
paniment of the Wedding March. 

“Lum-tum-ti j tum-tum-tum-tum, Lum-ti-ti-tum-ti- 
ti-tum-tum-tum-tum !” sang Jilly. 

At last Mrs. Todds, laughing despite her anger 
at such treatment, fought herself free. 

“I should think,” she observed witheringly, “as 
this young person has been indulgin’, Miss Din- 
widdy!” 

“No, I haven’t!” cried Jilly. “But you shall, 
Ma !” She flung half a sovereign on to the table. 
“There you are, old dear! Send out for some- 
thing good and wish us luck!” 

“Well, reely!” exclaimed Mrs. Todds, sidling 
up to the table in a shy manner delightful to be- 
hold, and, after several false starts, finally secur- 
ing the coin and slipping it into her apron-pocket. 
“Thank you, miss, I’m sure ! I wouldn’t ’ave said 
a word, on’y it gave me such a fright when you 


THE GAY LIFE 


176 

screamed out I made sure there was murder bein’ 
done or at least robbery with vi’lence ! An’ when 
I gets frightened without doo cause it always 
seems ter make me lose me temper!” 

“I’m sorry,” explained Jilly, “but I had to 
scream. Me and Miss Dinwiddy both thought we 
were the miserablest girls in all the world, and 
then we suddenly discovered, we were the hap- 
piest! Isn’t that something to scream about?” 

“Both come inter forchins?” asked Mrs. 
Todds, beaming. 

“Better than that!” said Jilly. 

Mrs. Todds shook her head. 

“I can’t think of nothing better nor that.” 

“Can’t you, Ma? Then I’ll tell you. Love! 
L-U-V!” 

Again Mrs. Todds shook her head. “That re- 
mains ter be proved. I ’ave known it go both 
ways, an’ more the other than one. Still, I’ll 
wish you ’appiness as soon as Lizzie gets back 
from the grocer’s, and pleased ter do it, I’m sure. 
Thank you, miss. In case you should ’appen to 
’ave a friend — my card. Good morning, miss, 
and thank you kindly.” 

“And now,” said Jilly, “tell me all about it, 
Nell. Fancy you being secretly sweet on my panel- 
doctor ! When did it begin, and where, and how, 
and why? If you miss out a single word, I’ll never 
forgive you!” 

So Miss Dinwiddy told her little story. Dr. 


CAT’S CRADLE 


177 

Steele, it seemed, the sly wretch, had been to 
Westbury no less than seven times! On each 
occasion he had bought the same end stall, and 
followed Miss Dinwiddy with his eyes the whole 
time that she was on the stage ! All the company 
had noticed it! But Miss Dinwiddy had given 
him no encouragement — not a scrap. Not even a 
glance when the final curtain was coming down. 
Why? Well, she hoped she was a better pal than 
that ! 

Some of the girls in the company had informed 
her that she had no heart — that to let a man come 
all that way, and never even go out to tea with 
him, was shameful. Let them talk. They knew 
nothing of the circumstances. If she had gone 
to tea with him, she would certainly have made 
herself extremely forbidding. And how would he 
have liked that? 

“You make me feel an awful beast,” said 

“Why, dear?’’ 

“Well, with me it was just the other way. You 
know what I am — if I’m fond of people I have 
to show it. Simply must. But Ed choked me off — 
fairly handed me the frozen mit!” 

“I don’t believe it, Jilly ! He couldn’t!” 

“He did, all the same. You ask him. So what 
I want to know is, where are we? Puts me in 
mind of Cat’s Cradle!” 

“The thing is this,” announced Miss Dinwiddy 


THE GAY LIFE 


178 

after a long pause devoted on both sides to hard 
thinking; “do you want to marry Ed?” 

“Not if he doesn’t want to marry me.” 

“But supposing that he does want to marry 
you?” 

“He’s got a funny way of showing it!” 

“I expect that’s diffidence. You’ve become such 
an important little person ” 

“Oh, chuck all that, Nell! I’m only on the 
halls, the same as Ed.” 

“But getting at least twice the money.” 

“I don’t know about that. Besides, you never 
know at this game. It’s one down, t’other come 
on. So if Ed’s thinking of that he’s a fool.” 

“Has he ever had a real chance to propose to 
you?” 

“I dunno. I should think so.” 

“Why not make quite sure?” 

“How d’ye mean?” 

“Oh, come, Jilly, you’re not such a little duffer 
as all that. You know perfectly well that, nine 
times out of ten, the girl has to make the oppor- 
tunity. Don’t you, now?” 

“Well, I’ll tell you what. I will if you will!” 

Miss Dinwiddy, who had almost forgotten to 
be gloomy in her interest in Jilly’s love-affair, 
sighed prodigiously. 

“So far as I’m concerned, I expect it’s too late. 
I’ve seen nothing of Dr. Steele for months.” 


CAT’S CRADLE 179 

“Then there’s no time to be lost. Now, look 
here, Nell. I’ll tell you what we’ll do.” 

If Mrs. Todds was wishing them luck just out- 
side the door of the parlour, with one ear to the 
keyhole, she adopted that uncomfortable attitude 
in vain. For Jilly unfolded the scheme that had 
come into her active brain in so low a tone that 
Mrs. Todds had no chance at all. 

Miss Dinwiddy listened attentively, and nodded 
a great many times. The whispering over, Jilly 
drew away and regarded her friend with shining 
eyes. 

“Are you on, Nell?” 

“It’s a delightful idea, but ” 

“Oh, blow the ‘huts’! Life’s too short for 
‘huts’!” 

“It’s rather a risk, you know, dear.” 

“So’s everything. Besides — well, you leave it 
to me. Are you on?” 

“I think I am.” 

“Hurroosh! Then shove on your bonnet and 
tippet, and come along with me to the house- 
agent’s. I’ve got all August free, and so have 
you. If the worst comes to the worst, we’ll have 
the time of our lives, and the men, bless ’em, can 
go and boil their heads!” 


i8o 


THE GAY LIFE 


hi 

“What kind of a house,” asked the house-agent, 
“were you requiring, miss? We have a large num- 
ber of furnished houses on our books. IVe got a 
very nice place here in Hertfordshire — fourteen 
bedrooms, four recep ” 

“Now, look here, young man,” replied Jilly 
impressively. “I don’t know if your time’s valu- 
able, but mine is, and I don’t wish it wasted. Is 
that house in Hertfordshire on the river?” 

“Well, no, miss. I can’t say it’s on the river. 
Is the river sine qua non?” 

“I don’t care tuppence what river it is so long 
as we can have a boat on it, and swim in it, and 
all that. And I don’t want fourteen bedrooms, 
because me and my friend never sleep in more 
than two at a time, and we’re neither of us mar- 
ried — yet — so there’ll be no children. There’ll be 
an old lady staying with us for chaperon, and 
there’ll be a cook and a maid, and if there’s an- 
other room or two for my old folks and my young 
brother, in case any of ’em should feel like a 
breath of country air, that’s as much as I shall 
want. But don’t show me any Castles in Wales 
or Spain, and don’t show me semi-detached villas 
in Hackney. Have you got the idea?” 

“Certainly, madam. Just one moment.” He 
consulted a number of small cards arranged in 


CAT’S CRADLE 


1 8 1 


alphabetical order. “I have a very nice place near 
Reigate. Dining-room, drawing-room, study, 
seven bedrooms, large garden ” 

“What about the river?” demanded Jilly. 

“Well, madam, there’s no river quite near the 
house.” 

“How far away is it?” 

The young man gazed at the ceiling. 

“Let me see. I should say Surbiton or Kings- 
ton would be the nearest point — about twelve 
miles off.” 

Jilly drew a long, long breath and looked at 
Miss Dinwiddy. Then, keeping herself strangely 
and ominously calm, she leaned across the desk 
and spoke to the agent in a small, very distinct 
voice. 

“Listen. Let me explain. I want a small, 
pretty, secluded, furnished house or cottage close 
to a river. Close . Not twelve miles off. Not — 
twelve — miles — off. Not even eight miles off. 
But close. I want it so close that I can dive into 
the river from my bedroom, if I think fit. And 
you can’t do that if the river is twelve miles off, 
can you, my lad?” 

The “lad” flushed, and bent once again over 
his cards. 

“I have a nice place here — Holmlea, Tedding- 
ton. Eight bedrooms, garage, tennis-lawn, poul- 
try-run ” 

“What about the river?” 


182 


THE GAY LIFE 


The agent smiled in a rather superior way. 

“Well, madam, I believe most people are 
aware that Teddington is on the river.” 

“I don’t want any back-chat!” retorted Jilly. 
“I’m here, remember, to put money into your 
pocket — not to take it out. Teddington may be 
on the river, but I suppose there are houses at 
Teddington that are not close to the river. Eh?” 

“Certainly, madam.” 

“Well, this poultry-farm you mentioned. Is it 
close to the river?” 

“I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you that, madam. 
If you’ll leave your address ” 

Jilly rose, and Miss Dinwiddy rose also. The 
house-agent seemed pained and surprised. 

“The kindest thing I can wish you,” said Jilly, 
in parting, “is that you may never be dependent 
upon your intelligence for earning a living. Be- 
cause, if you were, you would have to use such 
brains as God has given you, and then your little 
head might ache rather badly. Good morning.” 

“Do you think,” she asked Miss Dinwiddy, as 
they found themselves in the street, “that all 
house-agents are drivelling idots who make it their 
chief business in life to keep the houses empty?” 

“Yes, dear,” agreed the doleful one, “nearly 
all.” 

But there are good house-agents as well as bad, 
and Jilly at last discovered the cottage of her 
dreams, which she promptly secured for the month 


CAT’S CRADLE 


183 

of August Thither, in due course, she repaired 
with Miss Dinwiddy, and there they were joined 
by the stately Mrs. Houseboy, who was to be 
the chaperon. 

The lawn ran down to the river, which was 
very shady and quiet. There was a landing- 
stage, and a boat, and an island just round the 
first bend, and a backwater, and water-lilies, and 
bulrushes. There were roses in the garden, and 
an arbour, and shady walks, and lots of old-fash- 
ioned flowers, and sweeps of smooth turf. 

In the cottage there were ingle-nooks, and 
chintz curtains, and blue china, and window-seats 
looking over the river, and a quaint oak stair- 
case, and a grand piano which Miss Dinwiddy de- 
clared excellent. 

Jilly, from the very day of her arrival, was 
seized with a passion for bathing. She had never 
learnt to swim, and this was her opportunity. 
Miss Dinwiddy could both swim and dive, and 
Jilly was an apt pupil. She had any amount of 
pluck, and a week saw her quite confident in the 
water. At the end of a fortnight she could dive 
quite sufficiently well, but she excelled at trick- 
diving. She delighted to astonish Mrs. Houseboy 
by toppling into the river backwards, and even 
went so far as to do it with her clothes on. Miss 
Dinwiddy promptly went in after her, and both 
girls discovered that, if necessary, one could swim 


1 84 THE GAY LIFE 

in petticoats by keeping a level head and a long, 
easy stroke. 

The third week of this idyllic life had just begun 
when Jilly, at breakfast one morning, made an 
announcement to Mrs. Houseboy. 

“To-morrow,” said Jilly, “we are going to have 
visitors.” 

“Indeed?” The grande dame was distinctly 
interested. Nothing could suit her better than to 
entertain a Theatrical Knight or a King of Com- 
merce. 

“Yes, some old friends of mine and Miss Din- 
widdy’s. One you know — Ed Chauncey.” 

“I should think I did! He helped us out of 
our troubles at Ilkhampton, if I remember 
rightly?” 

“That’s the chap. And the other’s a Dr. 
Steele — a very nice man, isn’t he, Nell?” 

“I must cut some pink roses,” replied Miss Din- 
widdy, rising. 

“Coals to Newcastle!” called Jilly after her. 
“Well, Mrs. Houseboy, these two are coming to 
lunch and will spend the day. They go back to 
town by the last train. I want them to have a 
nice time, so will you give the proper orders?” 

“Certainly, my dear. Is ” The old lady 

lowered her voice, for Nell was visible through 
the open casement-windows — “Miss Dinwiddy 
particularly interested in Dr. Steele?” 


CAT’S CRADLE 185 

“To-morrow will show,” replied Jilly, in the 
same tone. 

“And you, my dear? I like to be in the secrets. 
Is Mr. Chauncey coming down to declare him- 
self at last?” 

“Mrs. Houseboy,” said Jilly, “hand me over 
those scissors. If you go on like this, there won’t 
be a pink rose left in the garden.” 

“I only hope,” persisted the old lady, “that 
everything will go swimmingly.” 

“That’s funny!” replied Jilly. And she ran 
out, laughing, to join Miss Dinwiddy. 


IV 

Mention has been made of an island just round 
the first bend. On this island, the time being 
about four in the afternoon of a beautiful August 
day, Miss Dinwiddy and Dr. Ernest Steele were 
boiling a kettle, whilst Jilly Nipchin and Ed 
Chauncey spread a table-cloth for tea. There 
was a certain repressed excitement in Jilly’s man- 
ner; she was annoyed to find that her hand trem- 
bled as she raised a corner of the white cloth. 
Worse still, Ed Chauncey noticed it. 

“Been smoking too many cigarettes?” he asked. 

“Not a single -one since we came down here,” 
replied Jilly. “Why?” 

“Guess your hand’s a bit shaky!” 


1 86 


THE GAY LIFE 


“That’s nervousness. I don’t entertain such 
distinguished people every day of my life, you 
know.” 

“When did you start in being nervous, Jilly?” 

“I dunno. It’s been coming on a long time.” 

“Not nervous working, are you?” 

“Not a scrap! But just before I go on — oh, 
help!” 

“Good for you ! As long as you keep that, your 
work will always be at concert-pitch. Stands to 
reason, don’t it?” 

“Did you come down here to talk about work, 
Ed Chauncey?” 

“You bet I didn’t!” 

“Why did you come down?” 

“I’d love to tell you !” 

“Mind the jam! You nearly upset the whole 
lot into the sugar !” 

“Must have had some sweet thoughts in me 
head!” 

“That would be a novelty,” replied Jilly. 

Miss Dinwiddy and the panel-doctor, in the 
meantime, were making slow progress in their own 
particular way. 

“Do you think it’ll topple over?” asked the 
doctor, his eyes fixed anxiously on the kettle. 

“Not likely,” replied the gloomy lady. 

“That’s a pity,” ventured the doctor. 

“Yes, but it can’t be helped.” Miss Dinwiddy 
here struck the lowest note in her register. 


CAT’S CRADLE 


182 

“I thought we might leave it to look after it- 
self, perhaps, and take a little stroll round the 
island?” 

“Duty is duty,” she reminded him mournfully. 

“But I’m not on duty at the moment,” he pro- 
tested. “I’m ” And there he stopped short 

and fidgeted with the kettle. 

“You were saying ?” 

“I was going to point out that I’m having a 
little holiday.” 

“I hope it will do you good.” 

“Thank you, I expect it will. Charming spot 
here, is it not?” 

Miss Dinwiddy sighed deeply — as well she 
might. Presently Jilly drew her aside and mur- 
mured low. 

“Anything doing, Nell?” 

“Nothing. We get to a certain point and 
there we stick.” 

“But he keeps looking at you in a very adoring 
way.” 

“I haven’t noticed it.” 

“No, he doesn’t do it when you could notice it 
— the duffer !” 

“What about your man?” 

“Oh, full of pleasant little jokes. I don’t want 
jokes ! I want to be swept off my feet like Juliet 
or one of those ! So if you’re ready, Nell, I am !” 

“It’s extremely mad, dear.” 

“Oh, we can’t help that! It’s all the fault of 


1 8 8 


THE GAY LIFE 


the men. If we don’t bring them up to the scratch 
to-day, it’s my solemn belief we’ll be old maids 
all our lives. Take out your hairpins.” 

‘‘My hairpins, dear? Why should I?” 

“It’s a picturesque touch. I thought of it in 
the night. I’ll do the same, don’t you see, and 
then our beautiful raven and auburn tresses will 
float upon the water! So as they can’t mistake 
which is which !” 

“Very well, dear. Anything you like.” 

The tea was all prepared and the kettle nearly 
boiling when Jilly suddenly exclaimed: 

“My goodness! This is a nice thing!” 

“What?” cried the unsuspecting guests. 

“We’ve forgotten the cake ! I’ll jump into the 
boat and go and get it!” 

“Let me go !” pleaded Ed. 

“No, you stay where you are. I won’t be half 
a shake!” 

“But why should you go alone?” asked the 
doctor. “You’ll want somebody to steady the 
boat while you get out.” 

“That’s true,” agreed Jilly. “I’ll take Nell.” 

Before the two men realised what was happen- 
ing, Miss Dinwiddy and Jilly were in the boat. 
Jilly took the sculls, and Miss Dinwiddy the 
rudder-lines. 

“Don’t be long,” urged Ed Chauncey, as he 
shoved the boat away from the bank. 


CAT’S CRADLE 189 

“Why not?” asked Jilly, darting him a provoca- 
tive glance. 

“Maybe I’ll tell you later,” shouted Ed. 

“And maybe you won’t,” muttered Jilly to the 
bottom of the boat, “unless I make you.” 

The girls rounded the bend. When they were 
out of sight of the island, but within hailing dis- 
tance of it, Jilly deliberately shipped her sculls. 

“Are you ready, Nell?” 

“Yes, dear.” 

“No, you’re not. Let your hair down.” 

The auburn and raven tresses fluttered in the 
breeze. 

“I feel as if I were going to commit suicide,” 
said the cheerful Nell. 

“I don’t. But it’s rather thrilling, isn’t it?” 

“I’m anxious about you, dear. Are you sure 
you can float in your clothes?” 

“You know I can. Done it heaps of times.” 

They stood up in the boat. For the last time, 
Jilly rehearsed the scene. 

“One — two — three, and in I go! Splash! 
‘Help! Help! Help !’ from you. Then splash! 
In you go ! And the rest is up to the men ! Good 
luck, old girl!” 

“Good luck, Jilly!” 

Miss Nipchin drew a deep breath, looked about 
to make sure they were quite unobserved, placed 
her hands above her head, and solemnly counted, 


1 9 o THE GAY LIFE 

“One — two — three !” There was a splash, three 
screams for help, and a second splash ! 


V 

Dr. Ernest Steele and Mr. Ed Chauncey seated 
themselves by the side of the tablecloth and 
exchanged cigarettes. They had not much in com- 
mon, the staid panel-doctor and the light-hearted 
equilibrist. One wanted to talk about Miss Din- 
widdy, the other about Jilly. But the diffidence 
that so annoyed Jilly did not desert them even 
when the girls were absent. 

“Jolly little place,’’ observed the doctor. 

“You bet,” replied Ed Chauncey. 

“You been down here before?” 

“Nope. You, doctor?” 

“This is my first visit.” 

After this brilliant effort, they puffed at their 
cigarettes in silence. 

Suddenly, through the still afternoon air, came 
a cry of “Help! Help! Help!” The two men 
sprang to their feet. The cries came from just 
round the bend, and both had recognised the deep 
voice of Miss Dinwiddy. 

“This way!” shouted Ed, plunging through the 
trees and undergrowth of the little island. But 
the doctor had flung off his coat, and was already 
in the water. A fine swimmer, he reached the end 


CAT’S CRADLE 


191 

of the island just as Ed Chauncey leapt from the 
bank into the water. 

“Help! Help! Help!” came the shouts again, 
and this time Jilly’s tones mingled with those of 
Miss Dinwiddy. 

“My God, they’re both in!” muttered Ed 
Chauncey as he swam. “Coming!” he called. 
“Coming! Hold on!” 

“Coming!” echoed the doctor. 

“Here they come!” spluttered Jilly. “Float, 
Nell! Give the raven locks a chance!” 

They rolled over and closed their eyes. The 
men, rounding the bend, saw the raven locks and 
the auburn tresses on the water. They quad- 
rupled their efforts. A few seconds later, Jilly 
felt herself grasped by the hair and tugged 
towards the boat. 

“Who — who is it?” she gasped. 

“Me!” was the answer. “Ed! Keep still, my 
darling, and I’ll save you!” 

“What?” 

“Keep still and I’ll save you!” 

There was no repetition of the tender word. 
Jilly was so furious that she let herself sink, and 
Mr. Chauncey, greatly terrified lest she had 
swooned, sank with her. Up they came again, 
and this time he dragged her to the boat and sup- 
ported her there. 

Miss Dinwiddy and the ‘doctor had already 
reached the boat, and the doctor was climbing in. 


THE GAY LIFE 


192 

Bidding them all hold tight, he seized the sculls 
and pulled the little party to the bank. Jilly al- 
lowed herself to be lifted from the water and laid 
upon the turf. The doctor was about to apply 
artificial respiration when her lips moved, very 
feebly. 

They all bent over her. 

“What is it? What is it, Jilly?” 

She murmured something, but they could not 
catch it. 

“You speak to her, Ed,” suggested Miss Din- 
widdy. 

“Right! Jilly! Jilly, dear! Can you hear 
me? It’s Ed! Can you hear me, darling?” 

“You bet!” murmured Jilly, opening her grey 
eyes and looking into his. 


VI 

Dinner was over. Mrs. Houseboy, having 
taken up a strategic position on the veranda, 
dozed. Miss Dinwiddy, with the assistance of 
the doctor in evening-dress, was playing the piano. 
Jilly and Ed Chauncey, also in evening-dress, sat 
on a garden seat and ogled the moonlit river. 

“If he doesn’t do it now,” thought Jilly, “I give 
it up !” 

“If I’m ever going to do it at all,” thought Ed, 
“now’s the time.” 


CAT’S CRADLE 


193 

And so it was. On such a night — warm, still, 
fragrant, melodious — a piece of granite might 
have made love to a clod of earth. Miss Din- 
widdy presently began to sing in her low rich 
contralto. 

“That’s nice,” said Ed, and sighed. 

“Awfully,” agreed Jilly, and sighed. 

“Sure you don’t feel cold?” 

“Not a scrap.” 

Miss Dinwiddy sang on. They couldn’t hear 
the words, but, through the open French win- 
dow, they could just see the doctor tenderly turn- 
ing the leaves of the music. 

“I think something will happen in there before 
we’re much older,” said Mr. Chauncey. 

“What d’you mean?” 

“Well, I shouldn’t think he could hold out for 
long.” 

“Holdout? Who? Why?” 

“The doc, of course. He’s dead nuts on Nell.” 

“What makes you think that?” 

“You ought to have seen his face when she 
screamed ‘Help!’ this afternoon. And he was in 
the water quickest thing I ever saw.” 

“Before you?” 

“Yes, he was in before me. I ran to the end 
of the island and took a header from there.” 

“Anyhow, you both arrived together, didn’t 
you?” 


i 9 4 THE GAY LIFE 

“Yes, we swam neck and neck. The doc was 
putting in his best work, I can tell you.” 

“And weren’t you?” 

“I got along. And then he made straight for 
Nell.” 

“And so you had to be content with me!” 

“I ketched a hold of you by the hair!” 

“You needn’t remind me of that. It still feels 
sore at the roots.” 

“You should have seen the tender way he 
helped her out of the water !” 

“I suppose you bundled me on to the bank any 
old way!” 

“I dunno about that. You soon came round 
when I spoke to you.” 

“Did you speak to me ? What did you say?” 

“Oh, just ‘Jilly’ and that.” 

“Not much to bring a person round!” 

“And then the doc helped Nell into the house 
as if she was damp gingerbread. Never see a man 
so concerned.” 

“I had to walk in all alone.” 

“Here, chuck it ! I helped you in just the same 
as he helped Nell.” 

“As if I was damp gingerbread?” 

“I don’t say that. What’s Nell singing?” 

“You’d better go and listen.” 

“Do you want me to go?” 

“Please yourself.” 

“Bit huffy, ain’t you?” 


CAT’S CRADLE 


195 

“No. Only jealous.” 

“Jealous? Who of?” 

“Nell.” 

“Nell? Come off it, Jilly !” 

“She’s so tall.” 

“I like little girls.” 

“And such a lady!” 

“Not more than you. I’m not going to have 
that.” 

“And she’s so clever.” 

“Clever? Well, I like that. And you pretty 
near the top of the tree. I sometimes wish ” 

“For the moon?” 

“I got no use for the moon at present. And, if 
I had, she’s too high up for me. I’m only a com- 
mon acrobat.” 

“You don’t say that on the bills, old sport.” 

“That’s different. You have to swank on the 
bills.” 

“Shall I tell you my motter?” 

“Out with it.” 

“ ‘Live up to the printing.’ ” 

“If I was to do that I should ” 

“Yes?” 

“Well, I mean if I was really world-famous, I 
should ” 

“Yes?” 

“Well, I might make a grab at the moon and 
chance me luck.” 


THE GAY LIFE 


196 

“Blow the moon!” retorted Jilly impatiently. 
“Let’s talk about me for a change.” 

“Same thing.” 

“Thanks for those few nuts, but I don’t want 
any leg-pulling.” 

“I guess you know you’re miles above me, 

Jilly” 

“As I said to you once before to-day, did you 
come down here to talk about work?” 

“Nope. But I can’t get it out of me head that 
you’re a star.” 

“I was the moon just now.” 

“Well, the stars are just as high. And I guess 
I’m only a kind o’ kite.” 

The music had stopped. 

“I guess you want a drink,” said Jilly. “But 
come quiet so as not to disturb the others.” 

They crossed the lawn and came within a few 
yards of the open French window. Jilly promptly 
turned her back. But she did not move from 
the spot. 

“What did I tell you?” whispered Ed. 

“What are they doing?” whispered Jilly. She 
would not look herself, but an object-lesson might 
be useful for Ed. 

“Just talking.” 

They waited in the shadow of the great cedar. 
The night was marvellously still. They could 
hear the river lapping the banks and Mrs. House- 
boy gently snoring on the veranda. 


CAT’S CRADLE 


197 


“And what now?” 

“He’s taken hold of her hand.” 

“What sort of a way?” 

“Like this.” And Ed took Jilly by the hand. 
Her back was still to the open French window. 
“What’s happening now?” 

“He’s putting his arm round her waist.” 

“What sort of a way?” 

“Like this.” Mr. Chauncey’s arm went sliding 
round Jilly’s waist. 

“Anything more?” 

“Nope. Just standin’ like that. . . . Ah!” 
“Well?” 

“She’s put her head on his shoulder.” 

“Like this?” 

“Yes, only a bit cosier.” 

“That better?” 

“That’s fine!” 

“Tell me when anything else happens.” 

“I’m watching out.” 

Jilly was watching the shadow cast by the cedar- 
tree against the moon. A few minutes more, and 
she reckoned it would leave them revealed. Oh, 
hurry up, you two inside ! 

“Well?” 

“He’s kinder bendin’ over her.” 

“What sort of a way?” 

“Very low and gentle — like this.” Ed’s breath 
played gently on her bare neck. The edge of the 


198 THE GAY LIFE 

shadow crept nearer and nearer as the moon rose 
higher. 

“Well?” 

“He’s going to kiss her!” 

“Never!” 

“I’ll bet he is! Buck up, doc!” 

( Oh yes, doc ! Buck up ! ) 

“He’s done it!” 

“Done what?” 

“Kissed her! He’s still kissing her!” 

“What — what sort of a way?” faltered Jilly. 

“This sort of a way!” 

The shadow of the cedar-tree had quite de- 
serted them before Ed Chauncey finished his illus- 
tration. Mrs. Houseboy, suddenly awaking and 
seeing the picture they made, thought that she was 
still asleep and dreaming a beautiful scene in a 
drama. 


CHAPTER VII 


“highbrows” 

I 

Mr. Cuthbert Lawn, General Manager of 
the Westbury Repertory, came stealing softly 
into the stalls of the ancient theatre in which he 
conducted his somewhat erratic operations. A 
rehearsal, as usual, was in progress, but Mr. Cuth- 
bert Lawn did not conduct the rehearsals. That 
privilege was left to the producer. Mr. Cuthbert 
Lawn was thus at liberty to excogitate the mar- 
vellous schemes whereby the sturdy citizens of 
Westbury were mentally, if not financially, en- 
riched. 

Mr. Lawn, who liked to fancy himself an 
enigma, worked in spasms. These spasms had 
such an exhausting effect upon him that they left 
him prone upon a sofa, a little volume by Henley 
or Stevenson in his weary hand, and his lightest 
wish anticipated by a devoted and an unflagging 
wife. The members of the company, on such oc- 
casions, would be invited to spend their Sunday 
evenings in the literary atmosphere thus created 
199 


200 


THE GAY LIFE 


by Mr. Cuthbert Lawn, and were graciously per- 
mitted to prattle to each other to their hearts’ 
content, now and again receiving the benign unc- 
tion of a word from the Master, or a long, enig- 
matic look from his large dark eyes. 

Mr. Cuthbert Lawn, having recently recovered 
from one of these spasms, was about to have an- 
other. His large eyes burned with the fire of the 
repertory enthusiast on the track of a scoop. 
Having burned for some twenty minutes to no 
purpose, they at last rested on the tall form of 
Miss Eleanor Dinwiddy. Mr. Lawn composed 
his face into a set smile of irresistible quality, and 
bore down upon the unconscious Nell with the 
slow but sure movements of the managerial spi- 
der. Sinking into a stall beside her, much as the 
even more celebrated spider must have seated 
himself on Miss Muffet’s tuffet, he extended an 
enigmatic finger and touched Miss Dinwiddy, ever 
so lightly, on the arm. 

We all know what happened to Miss Muffet. 
,But Miss Dinwiddy was made of sterner stuff. 
She gave a violent jump, it is true, but remained 
in her seat — hypnotised, no doubt, by the large 
eyes and the set smile. 

“I want. To speak. To you.” Thus Mr. 
Cuthbert Lawn, who enhanced the mysterious 
quality of his personality by talking in a series 
of slow jerks, and in so low a voice that his re- 
marks, very often, were not heard at all. As 


HIGHBROWS’ 


201 


though to atone to himself for that, he frequently- 
missed the remarks of other people. His recep- 
tivity, like his ideas, was spasmodic. Now he 
heard you and now he didn’t. When he did, he 
heard you at once. When he didn’t, you were met 
with the enigmatic smile and the steady gaze of 
the large, dark eyes. It was always a toss-up. 

“Well, Mr. Lawn, here I am.” 

“And jolly. Nice. You look.” 

“Thank you. Is that all you wanted to say, 
because I’m due on the stage in a few minutes.” 

“Can’t. They wait. While you talk. To your 
Manager. On Business?” 

“I shouldn’t dream of keeping the poor dears 
waiting. D’you realise that we’ve been at it since 
ten o’clock this morning, and we’re all playing at 
night?” 

“Half. A sec.,” pleaded Mr. Lawn, making 
his face extremely serious. “I want. To speak. 
To you.” 

“So you said before. I can’t miss my cue.” 

“That’s. All right. Sit down. Will you?” 

Miss Dinwiddy complied. After all, for the 
time being, this young man was her meal-ticket. 

“Thanks. I say.” He leaned very near to her 
ear. “You know. Jilly Nipchin. Don’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“She’s. A very. Great friend. Of yours. 
Isn’t she?” 

“Yes.” 


202 


THE GAY LIFE 


“I want. To do. Her. A good turn.” 

“That’s exceedingly kind of you!” 

“She’s. Too good. For the halls.” 

“I quite agree.” 

“She. Ought to take. Her proper place. In 
the profession.” 

“Jilly’s a genius.” 

“I know. I’ve seen her. Work.” 

“She’d be proud to know that.” 

“It rests. With you. To do her. A jolly. 
Good turn.” 

“Then you may be sure I shall do it.” 

“Yes. I know. Well. I’ve got. A jolly. 
Good play. With a part. She could make. Her 
name in.” 

“Her name is already made, Mr. Lawn.” 

“Notin. Straight work. If she. Created. A 
fine part. In the Westbury Repertory. It would 
be. A feather. In her cap.” 

“What sort of a part is it?” 

“Cock. Ney.” 

“May I read the play?” 

“Splendid. Part!” 

“I said, may I read the play?” 

Very slowly, very solemnly, he shook his head. 

“All right,” said Miss Dinwiddy. “But I can’t 
ask Jilly to play a part she knows nothing what- 
ever about.” 

“It’s a jolly. Good. Part!” 

“So you said. But opinions sometimes differ. 


“HIGHBROWS” 203 

Jilly Nipchin is quite independent of you, bear in 
mind.” 

“Eh?” 

“Oh, never mind. It’s getting near my cue. 
Sorry I can’t help you.” 

Secretly amused, she went on to the stage and 
remained there until the end of the rehearsal. As 
she came out of the stage-door, and was hurry- 
ing off to her rooms for tea and a short rest be- 
fore the evening show, Mr. Cuthbert Lawn again 
sidled into view. 

“Hullo! Going. Home?” 

“Yes. Good-bye.” 

“Half. A sec. Don’t be. In such. A jolly. 
Hurry. I’ll. Walk along. With you.” 

“Sorry, but I’m going by tram.” 

“Then. I’ll come. In the tram. With you.” 

Which he did. It was out of the question, of 
course, to talk in the tram, and it was too cold to 
talk in the street, so Miss Dinwiddy was com- 
pelled to ask him in. 

“Jolly. Comfy. Rooms!” said Mr. Lawn. 

“Will you have some tea?” * 

“No. Thanks. I must. Pop. Off. What 
about. Jilly Nipchin?” 

“I can’t say any more than I said this after- 
noon. Let me read the play, and, if I think the 
part suited to her, I’ll write and ask her if she 
cares to come down and play it. She’ll want a big 
figure, you know.” 


204 


THE GAY LIFE 


“How. Much?” 

“Oh, fifty at the very least.” 

“Or. An interest. In the receipts?” 

“Yes, her manager might agree to that.” 
“Who’s her manager?” Strange to say, that 
all came out at once. 

“I really forget,” replied Miss Dinwiddy. 
“Excuse me if I go on with my tea.” 

“Don’t. You mind. Me. Jolly. Nice. Tea! 
My company. Do themselves. Jolly well!” 

Miss Dinwiddy ate and drank in silence. Mr. 
Cuthbert Lawn prowled about the room, study- 
ing intently all the signed photographs, more es- 
pecially the photographs of Jilly. At last, holding 
one of these in his hand, he said: 

“I’d like. To do. Her. A good turn.” 
“Well, you know the first step,” Miss Din- 
widdy reminded him. 

“She looks. A bit. Hipped.” 

“Does she?” 

“Looks. As if. She’d had. A disappointment. 
In love.” 

He was fishing. Miss Dinwiddy was sure of it. 
“I wonder,” was all her answer. 

“Didn’t. You know?” 

“Is there anything to know?” 

“About. That. Acrobat chap. Chauncey. 
American acrobat.” 

“I know Mr. Chauncey quite well. He’s an 
old friend of mine.” 


HIGHBROWS 1 


“Jolly. Clever chap! But they say. He 
jilted. Jilly Nipchin. And went. Off. To 
America.” 

“He did nothing of the kind! I won’t hear it 
said! Ed Chauncey’s one of the very best! He’s 
in love with Jilly, and he could marry her to-mor- 
row, but he’s too proud to have it said that he’s 
living on her earnings ! Now you know the whole 
truth, and I wish there were more men like him 
either on the halls or in the theatres!” 

“Jolly. Romantic. Affair!” agreed Mr. 
Lawn, who made no further reference to the new 
play, and soon afterwards stole down the stone 
staircase to the street. Glancing up at Miss Din- 
widdy’s window, he observed to himself : 

“Think. Yourself. Jolly clever. Don’t 
your But when. People. Lose their tempers. 
They generally. Tell you. All you want. To 
know.” 


II 

Jilly, in her dressing-room at the London Am- 
phitheatre, was whiling away the time between the 
first and second house by playing bezique with 
little Dorothy Hollis, who had now become her 
permanent companion and secretary. Jilly was 
by no means at the head of her profession, but 
she was never in want of work, and frequently 
topped the bill at provincial halls. Besides run- 


20 6 


THE GAY LIFE 


ning her small flat, and keeping herself and Dor- 
othy both in London and on tour, she looked after 
her old people — who still lost»a little money in the 
happiest way at the tiny shop in York Lane — and 
helped Horace — -“Orris” no longer — when cir- 
cumstances were too much for him. 

Never very good at saving, she had, neverthe- 
less, managed to put by some five or six hundred 
pounds. After all, she would ask herself, in dole- 
ful moods, why save? To ‘what end? For 
whom? Horace and the old folks would be quite 
comfortable so long as she was working, and the 
chances were that she would work, on much the 
same plane, for many years to come. If she had 
made a home for — Oh, well, if men liked to be 
such fools, why bother about them? Why trouble 
your head about any man, J. Nipchin? A fig for 
the whole lot! Yes, equilibrists and all! And 
then she would sigh, and Dorothy would sigh, 
whereupon Jilly would laugh and kiss her little 
companion, and Dorothy would chuckle with con- 
tentment and adore her more than ever. 

Came a tap at the door — the familiar tap of 
Blaker, the stage doorkeeper. 

“Miss Nipchin?” called Blaker, in his high, 
cheerful, never-say-die voice. 

“Come in, Blaker.” 

Blaker opened the door a little and thrust in 
his head. 

“Can you see Mr. Cuthbert Lawn, miss?” 


“HIGHBROWS” 207 

“Never heard of him, Blaker.” 

“No, miss? One of these here highbrows — 
manager of the Westbury Repertory. Bit hard 
of hearing, seemingly. I told him you never saw 
any one without appointment, but I couldn’t seem 
to make him understand. Shall I tell him off?” 

“Westbury Repertory? He may have some 
message from Nell! No, I’ll see him, Blaker. 
What’s the name’again?” 

“Lawn, miss. Cuthbert Lawn. Puts you in 
mind of George Robey, don’t it?” And Blaker 
withdrew, laughing shrilly. 

Jilly peeped at herself in the glass, tucked one 
or two garments behind a curtain — she never en- 
couraged her dresser to hang about when she was 
once ready for the stage — and took up a digni- 
fied attitude by the dressing-table. Dorothy, 
rather shyly, opened the door to Mr. Lawn and 
then remained in the room. 

Mr. Lawn came gliding in with all sails set. 
That is to say, his dress-coat was perfectly set, and 
his white tie was perfectly set, and his white 
waistcoat, and his hair, and his smile. His smile 
was the most set thing about him. You would 
have supposed that it never could and never did 
come off. As Jilly said afterwards, in describing 
the interview to Nell Dinwiddy, she almost 
thought this must be some very old friend whom 
she had forgotten through a blow on the head. 

Mr. Cuthbert Lawn advanced, seized her by 


208 


THE GAY LIFE 


the hand, and held it as though he would never, 
never let it go again as long as they both lived. 

“Jolly. Glad. To meet you!” he breathed, 
beaming away like one o’clock. 

“Thanks,” said Jilly, recovering her hand with 
a slight tug. “Sit down, won’t you?” 

“Thanks! Saw. Your turn. First house. 
Topping!” 

“Glad you liked it. Personally, I thought I 
was rotten.” 

“Topping! Simply. Topping!” And then he 
relapsed into silence, and just beamed, and 
beamed, and beamed. Little Dorothy Hollis was 
not quite sure whether the visitor was insane or 
the pleasantest gentleman in the world. Such de- 
light seemed almost uncanny. She kept a watchful 
eye on the door. 

“I think you know a friend of mine — Miss Din- 
widdy?” suggested Jilly. 

“Ra. Ther! In. My Company! Jolly. Fine. 
Actress! Topping. Good. Sort! Great. Pal. 
Of mine!” 

Naturally, Jilly’s heart warmed to Mr. Cuth- 
bert Lawn. A manager who could appreciate 
Nell at her true worth must have brains. 

“Will you take anything to drink?” she sug- 
gested. 

“No. Thanks. I must. Pop. Off. Pretty 
soon. Got. A lot. Of important. Appoint- 
ments.” 


HIGHBROWS’ 


Once again he relapsed into silence, and beamed, 
and beamed, and beamed. Could this, Jilly won- 
dered, be just a friendly call? If so, how long 
would it last? She glanced at Dorothy. Dorothy 
seemed inclined to have a fit of the giggles. 

“Is Miss Dinwiddy quite well?” she asked at 
last, in sheer desperation. 

“Ra. Ther! Simply topping. Health! Noth- 
ing like. Westbury air. And plenty of. Work!” 

“Yes, I think she enjoys her work.” 

“Ra. Ther!” 

A third silence, and more beaming. Never was 
such a fellow to beam as Mr. Cuthbert Lawn! 
He beamed at Jilly, and beamed at Dorothy, and 
beamed at the grease-paints, and beamed at the 
ceiling. Finally, overcome with sheer delight in 
all these things, he slapped his leg and laughed 
aloud. 

“What’s the joke?” asked Jilly, reverting to her 
blunt manner. 

Mr. Lawn shook his head very slowly, beamed, 
and said nothing. 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll excuse me,” observed 
Jilly, suddenly holding out her hand. “I have to 
get ready for the second house.” 

Mr. Lawn, who was always ready to shake 
hands, shook hands now. But he showed no inten- 
tion of moving. Despite his important appoint- 
ments, time appeared to be no object. Jilly re- 
turned to her chair, and busied herself in front 


210 


THE GAY LIFE 

of the glass. But she could not escape the beam- 
ing glance of Mr. Lawn, which met her in the 
mirror. 

At last, unable to bear it any longer, she 
swerved round in her chair. 

“Look here, young fellow, what is it? You’re 
getting on my nerves! I shall scream in a min- 
ute! If you’ve anything to say, say it! If you 
haven’t, please clear out and let me get ready for 
my turn!” 

Mr. Lawn looked at his watch. 

“All right,” he assured her. “Plenty of. 
Time. You’re not on. For an hour. Yet.” 

“That’s as may be,” retorted Jilly. “But I 
can’t have you sitting here all night, whoever you 
may be. So kindly state your business.” 

Mr. Cuthbert Lawn, looking a little pained at 
this abrupt treatment, proceeded to state his busi- 
ness in his own way. He took a long time about 
it, but here was the proposition in a nutshell — 
Would Jilly come to Westbury in April and cre- 
ate the leading part — a good Cockney part — in a 
new three-act play by Austin Dawes? If the play 
succeeded, the Westbury Repertory people would 
probably arrange for a London run at a good 
West End theatre, and Jilly should have the re- 
fusal of the part on certain terms. For the week 
at Westbury he would pay her a nominal fee — 
as expenses, say — and give her the benefit of his 
advertising genius. 


“HIGHBROWS” 21 1 

Jilly, as he saw at a glance, was -tempted. She 
evidently regarded it as an honour to be invited to 
play a leading part at the Westbury Repertory. 
An unending round of music-hall work, combined 
with Ed Chauncey’s unexpected departure for 
America after the scene in the garden by the river, 
was telling on her spirits. Nell, moreover, was 
at Westbury, and Nell knew all about everything. 
She could pour out her heart to Nell. She missed 
Nell. Dorothy was a dear little soul, but far too 
young for a confidante. 

Yes, Mr. Cuthbert Lawn had acted astutely. 
He was already patting himself on the back. 
Jilly’s name alone should fill the old theatre, and, 
if the play caught on, and satisfactory arrange- 
ments could be made for London, the Repertory 
purse would be replenished and his Directors 
would feel happier. So, having made his offer, he 
sat quite still and beamed and beamed and 
beamed. 

“D’you want my answer right away?” said Jilly 
musingly. 

Up went the hand. “Eh?” 

“I said, d’you want my answer right away?” 

“Yes. Please. I’m going. Back. To-mor- 
row. And everything. Must be. In Train.” 

“What time to-morrow are you going back?” 

“Very. Early.” 

“That’s a pity.” 

“Why?” 


212 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Because I must have to-night and to-morrow 
morning to think it over. I should have to ar- 
range with my music-hall managers. How long 
would you want me to rehearse ?” 

“One. Week.” 

“Well, you see, that makes two weeks in all. 
I can’t be sure till I look at my diary, but those 
two weeks are pretty sure to be filled in. I should 
have to exchange them. As for a run in London, 
I don’t see a chance.” 

Mr. Cuthbert Lawn, serious now, leaned for- 
ward. The time had come for the compelling 
force of personality to be employed. He fixed 
his large eyes on Jilly, and spoke with the utmost 
earnestness. 

“There’s no reason. Why your music-hall en- 
gagements. Should stand in the way. If you 
made a big hit in London. As you would. In 
this play. Your value would be doubled. Trust 
the music-hall people. To see that. They’d be 
quite willing. To postpone. By the way. I spoke 
to Miss Dinwiddy. About this engagement. She 
agreed with me. That you ought to seize the 
chance.” 

“Has Nell read the play?” 

Up went the hand. “Eh?” 

“Has Nell read the play?” 

Mr. Cuthbert Lawn shook his head. 

“Then how could she tell whether it was a 
chance for me or not?” 


“HIGHBROWS” 


213 

“We were speaking. Generally. She thinks. 
You’re too good. For the halls. So do. I. 
Here’s a fine chance. To get out of them!” 

“May I read the play?” 

“Haven’t. Brought it. With me. Getting. 
The parts. Typed.” 

“Wouldn’t Mr. Austin Dawes have a second 
copy?” 

Mr. Lawn again shook his head. There was 
no particular reason, of course, why Jilly should 
not have read the play, but it was one of his con- 
victions that actors and actresses seldom under- 
stood plays in manuscript. To a certain extent, 
perhaps, he was right. 

“Well,” announced Jilly, “I couldn’t tell you 
offhand, Mr. Lawn, not if it was ever so. But 
I’ll write you to-morrow or the next day.” 

“Too. Late.” 

“To-morrow, then.” 

“Too. Late.” 

“Well, how long can you give me?” 

“I’ll call. To-morrow. Morning.” 

“No, no! I shall be out!” Jilly felt unequal 
to the strain of another interview. The enig- 
matic manner and the beaming smile and the 
large eyes had already reduced her to a state of 
semi-collapse. “Will it do if I wire you?” 
“Def. Initely?” 

“Of course.” 


214 


THE GAY LIFE 

“Very. Well. But. I shall. Never. For- 
give you. If you don’t. Come.” 

Another long hand-shake, a long look of in- 
tense sincerity, and he backed into the passage, 
beaming and beaming to the last. 

Directly the door was closed, Jilly threw her- 
self on to a small sofa and kicked violently for 
three minutes. Then she lay quite still and gazed 
at Dorothy. 

“He reminds me of something,” said Dorothy, 
“but I can’t think what!” 

“I know!” cried Jilly. “A basilsilk !” 


HI 

Despite Nell’s many reassurances, Jilly was 
very frightened of meeting the Westbury Reper- 
tory Company. 

“I know you highbrows!” she declared to Nell 
on the evening of her arrival at Westbury. “You 
talk about Ibsen, and Plato, and anybody else who 
happens to be dead; and you live on apples and 
nuts; and you despise the halls! Fancy poor 
little me among that lot! I shall be sniffed out 
of existence at the first rehearsal! I don’t care! 
I shall put on side! If they give me any back- 
chat, I’ll tell ’em about my salary! I’ll swank 
till I’m blue in the face! You see if I don’t!” 

Nell laughed. 


“HIGHBROWS” 215; 

“We’re the most harmless lot of people in the 
world,” she replied, “and we’re all hard up, and 
we think chiefly of food, and money, and notices, 
and the chance of a job in London. As for a star 
like you, making your sixty pounds a week or 
something, we’re all secretly in awe of you, though 
we may not show it, and we shall brag about hav- 
ing played with you until we’re stars ourselves. 
So let us down lightly, Jilly. As you are great, 
be merciful!” 

But Jilly’s alarm did not subside until she found 
herself on the stage for the first rehearsal. They 
all seemed very familiar with each other, and 
rather tired, and quite unaffected, and extremely 
pessimistic about repertory in general and the 
Westbury Repertory in particular. Those who 
were playing long parts complained that they 
would never have time to learn half the lines, 
and a good deal of envy was bestowed on two or 
three members of the company who were not 
playing at all, and had come down to the theatre 
just for the fun of watching the others work. 

The producer, Mr. Hallack, was quite unlike 
any stage-manager within Jilly’s experience. His 
method was kt first bewildering and then quite 
delightful. He was very quiet, very patient, but 
very firm. Instead of paying extravagant and 
blustering attention to the “big scenes” and the 
leading characters, it was the detail of the play 
that occupied him. He had no script of the piece ; 


21 6 


THE GAY LIFE 


not only did he know the play by heart, appar- 
ently, but he had somehow put on the very skin 
of the author. For the time being, he was the 
author. He felt with him, saw with him, almost 
created with him. 

Jilly had studied her own part with very great 
care and deep interest, but Mr. Hallack, as the 
first act unfolded itself, let drop innumerable hints 
as to the character which surprised and thrilled 
her. She was not yet on the stage, but the pic- 
ture was being composed for her. An atmos- 
phere was being created for her. She confessed 
to herself, with shame and humility, that she had 
barely penetrated beneath the surface of the part. 
In her loyal little heart she swore the blindest 
allegiance to Mr. Hallack before the rehearsal 
had been going half an hour. 

Here, for example, is a little incident that 
opened her eyes to the possibilities of play-pro- 
ducing. A middle-aged woman, Miss Plowright 
by name, came on and spoke some lines. The 
scene was laid in her drawing-room. Before she 
had been speaking many minutes, Mr. Hallack 
stopped her. 

“Just a moment, Miss Plowright. I don’t think 
you’ve quite got the idea of Lady Dinner.” 

Miss Plowright stiffened. It is always difficult 
for older players to adopt new methods, and she 
could not forget her little triumphs with certain 
old-fashioned slipshod managements. 


“HIGHBROWS” 217 

“Is there anything so very subtle about her?” 
she demanded. 

Mr. Hallack smiled. 

“Oh, no, nothing particularly subtle, but I 
want you to convey to the audience a motherliness 
— a sort of ‘been-through j the-mill’ woman rather 
than the ordinary stiff-and-starched grande dame.” 

“But this woman is supposed to be a lady, is 
she not?” 

“Well, the term ‘lady’ is rather a wide one, isn’t 
it? I’ll tell you exactly what I want and why I 
want it. You see, when Sarah comes on” — Sarah 
was Jilly’s part — “Lady Dinner has to put up 
with a certain amount of cheek from her. Now, 
the ordinary stiff-and-starched lady of the con- 
ventional stage would never allow these imperti- 
nences from a maid; I mean, she wouldn’t in real 
life, though she would in some London theatres. 
But we’re after real life. Well, now, if you can 
manage to give Lady Dinner a certain tolerance — 
call it a sense of humour, if you like — you at once 
get the sort of woman who would be possible in 
this situation. Try those lines with a smile in- 
stead of set features, and an amiable amble rather 
than a stalk, and you’ll see at once how it goes.” 

Miss Plowright shrugged her shoulders. 

“Very well, Mr. Hallack. But all this is very 
different, of course, from the way I studied the 
part. And the time is so short !” 

“Yes, I know it is, but we shall get it right. I 


2 I 8 


THE GAY LIFE 


want ‘character’ in the part, and that’s precisely 
why I cast you for it. Now, once again, please.” 

Mollified by the skilful little compliment, Miss 
Plowright made her entrance again, but this time, 
instead of a stage-figure, she was a human being. 
The difference to the scene was extraordinary. 
The act assumed at once another tone. Mr. Hal- 
lack clapped his hands with delight, and Miss 
Plowright knew, by the smiling appreciation of 
her new reading on the faces of the company in 
general, that she was out for a success with Lady 
Dinner. There was no trouble with her after 
that. 

“This is fine!” whispered Jilly to Nell Din- 
widdy. “I never knew it was done like this!” 

“Oh, that’s nothing,” replied Nell, who had 
thrown off much of her morbidity since her en- 
gagement to Dr. Steele. “You wait and watch. 
You’ll see a thousand touches better than that.” 

At last came Jilly’s own cue. She had never 
been so frightened in her life. Naturally, they 
would all expect great things. Her reputation 
would go pop ! Here was quite another matter 
from entertaining a good-natured, uncritical, un- 
intellectual music-hall audience. 

Mr. Hallack allowed her to read for a time 1 
without any interruption. Jilly, in fact, was on 
the point of begging him to tell her something 
when she heard his voice. 

“One moment, please, Miss Nipchin!” 


HIGHBROWS’ 


“Yes?” She ran to the floats — he was in the 
stalls' — all eagerness. 

“May I give you one little hint before we go 
any further?” 

“Hint?” retorted Jilly. “Give me beans! 
Jump on me neck!” 

There was general laughter, and she felt much 
better. 

“No, I won’t quite do that,” replied Mr. Hal- 
lack, laughing himself, “but I just want to save 
time and trouble all round. You’ve nothing to 
learn about this part. I don’t want you to ap- 
proach it with the idea that this is a repertory 
theatre and a repertory play, and you must there- 
fore do something ‘different.’ The part is quite 
straight and as clear as daylight. Just go at it 
easily, on your own lines, and the author will 
do the rest.” 

“Thanks awfully! Then can I just be a small- 
part kid and not a rotten star?” 

Everybody laughed again, and Jilly’s clouds 
rolled away like magic. 

“It’s hardly a small part,” replied Mr. Hal- 
lack, “but we’re all kids here, and we loathe, 
and detest, and envy all stars!” 

The rehearsal then proceeded, and Jilly, hav- 
ing shed her self-consciousness, revealed the art- 
ist born in numberless ways that delighted the 
producer. 

At two o’clock, Mr. Hallack gave the com- 


220 


THE GAY LIFE 


pany half an hour for lunch. The men disap- 
peared in a flash; two of the girls retired to their 
dressing-room with a paper-bag containing ba- 
nanas and nuts; Jilly and Nell flew along to a 
little restaurant and ordered soup and fish. 

“Well,” asked Miss Dinwiddy, “and what 
do you think of repertory, Jilly?” 

“Think of it? I think I shall marry Mr. Hal- 
lack!” 

“That’s all right, if you don’t mind his having 
one wife already!” 

“Drat the woman! I might have guessed it! 
Are you particularly fond of your panel-doctor, 
Nell?” 

For answer, Miss Dinwiddy imprinted a sur- 
reptitious but none the less fervent kiss on her 
engagement-ring. 

“There you go, you see!” retorted Jilly. 
“Whichever way I turn, blind alley! Isn’t there 
any man in the company would suit me? What 
about that tall chap with the red hair?” 

“Smailbone? Confirmed bachelor. Woman- 
hater.” 

“Well, I’m getting to be a bit of a man-hater, 
so we ought to hit it off rather well!” 

“I’m so angry with Ed Chauncey, I could !” 

“Angry with him? Why? He did the right 
thing. Oh, no, not from his point of view — that’s 
silly guff — but from mine. That was a low-down 
trick, that river business. It was all my idea, and 


221 


“HIGHBROWS” 

now I’m rightly and properly in the cart for it!” 

“It was rather a shame. I had to confess.” 

“Who to? Your doctor?” 

“Yes. Do you mind?” 

“Not a bit! What did he say? It was plucky 
of you, Nell!” 

“Roared with laughter, and then behaved ab- 
surdly.” 

“He didn’t think it was too beastly mean for 
words?” 

“Oh, no. Said he had to thank you for — well, 
I can’t very well go on without swanking.” 

“I know . . . Nell?” 

“Yes, dear?” 

“D’you think if I lost all my money — what 
there is of it — and took to repertory work for 
good and all, Ed would think me poor enough 
for him?” 

“I can’t say what he’d think, but you' certainly 
would be.” 

“Then I believe I will!” 

“But what about your contracts?” 

“Oh, dash those! I quite forgot ’em!” 

“My dear,” said Nell Dinwiddy, laying her 
hand affectionately on Jilly’s arm, “you mustn’t 
dream of doing anything so mad. You’re too — 
what shall I say? — individual for repertory. 
You’ve struck out a splendid line, and you must 
stick to it. But I don’t say that you need stick 
to the halls all your life. If you get a chance 


222 


THE GAY LIFE 


of a good part in a good West End production, 
you take it. This play, for instance, will be done 
in London if it succeeds here, and you have the 
first call on the part. And then there’s America. 
I should think they’d eat you in America.” 

“America?” mused Jilly. 

“Yes — America.” 

“That’s the land of hope and glory, ain’t it?” 

“For English mummers — yes.” 

“My word, Nell, if I had half the cheek I used 
to have when we first met !” 

“What would you do?” 

“What would I do? I dunno. You can’t go 
on chasing a man all yer life.” 

“Oh. . . . Won’t Ed ever come back to Eng- 
land?” 

“I dunno. He’s a determined little devil.” 

“And you’re not, I suppose?” 

“I’ve given him one chance.” 

“Didn’t I once read you a lecture about the 
girl having to make the opportunities?” 

Jilly ate her fish in silence. As they walked 
back to the theatre, she suddenly clutched Nell 
Dinwiddy by the arm. 

“I’ve got it!” she exclaimed. “I’ve got it all 
mapped out in me head! We must make a big 
go of this piece, so as to get it put up in Lon- 
don. Then we must make a big go of it in Lon- 
don — you’ll have to play your same part — so as 
to get it taken to America. And then, once again 


“HIGHBROWS 1 


on the same continent with Master Ed, if I don’t 
rub his nose in it my name isn’t Jilly Nipchin, 
and you can call me a wash-out!” 

“Splendid!” cried Nell. “So it all depends on 
Monday night !” 

“You bet it does! Skip in, old girl, and we’ll 
show Westbury a thing or two between us !” 

From that moment onwards, she set her teeth 
in the part, worked like a little steam-engine, and 
fired the company with her enthusiasm. Mr. Hal- 
lack was overjoyed with his team, and Austin 
Dawes, arriving from London on the Friday be- 
fore production, had little to do but sit in the 
stalls and chuckle. 

“Mark my words,” said Miss Plowright to Mr. 
Hallack, “if this piece goes like this in rehearsal, 
it’ll be a dead failure at night!” 

Mr. Hallack smiled to himself and made no 
reply. Though it is rarely necessary in reper- 
tory, the company seldom having time to get stale, 
there is such a thing, he knew well, as queering a 
too smooth dress-rehearsal, just to screw every- 
body, stage-manager and stage-hands included, up 
to concert pitch. 


IV 

The dress-rehearsal was over at last, and the 
company dismissed to get such rest and refresh- 
ment as they could before the first performance. 


THE GAY LIFE 


224 

Everything had gone wrong. A flat had fallen 
down and almost killed Mr. Smallbone ; luckily, it 
missed him altogether. Jilly had dried up three 
times. Miss Plowright had dried up twice. Nell 
Dinwiddy had kept the stage waiting nearly a 
minute by Mr. Hallack’s watch. Miss Kewley, 
one of the nut-and-banana girls, had wept bitter 
tears because Mr. Hallack had chided her, and 
Miss Ruggles, her friend, had cried in sympathy. 
Both had resolved to leave the stage at the end 
of the season, and devote the remainder of their 
shattered lives to furthering the scheme for the 
Downfall of Man. Mr. Brothers, the stage- 
manager, had called his assistant, Mr. Rew, a 
chromatic fool, and Mr. Rew, thanking God he 
was a gentleman, had turned on his heel and 
walked rapidly to the stage-door — and back. 

All this happened on the Monday morning and 
the early part of Monday afternoon. Mr. Aus- 
tin Dawes, on leaving the theatre, asked a native 
to direct him to the river. On learning that it 
was forty minutes’ ride by tram, he had reluctantly 
changed his mind, and sought relief in a hair cut, 
shave, shampoo, and electric massage. 

When the doors opened, two women strolled 
listlessly into the pit, and four into the gallery. 
All had orders — the reward of virtuously dis- 
playing small bills in their windows. One brought 
a baby, which cried until the orchestra began to 


“HIGHBROWS” 22 S\ 

play, and then had a mild fit and was taken 
home. 

The curtain went up to a house that held eight- 
een pounds, four shillings, and threepence. The 
final return, thanks to a slightly inebriated gentle- 
man, who mistook the theatre for a music-hall, 
was a shilling more. Mr. Cuthbert Lawn, beau- 
tifully dressed, sat in his office and dictated en- 
thusiastic letters — on another subject — to London. 
At the fall of each curtain, he had a look at the 
calls and smiled enigmatically at any constant 
patron whom he encountered in the passages. 

Mr. Hallack, biting his nails to the quick at the 
back of the dress-circle — a thing he did on the 
first night of each of his productions and never 
at any other time — knew that the play was a suc- 
cess five minutes after Jilly entered. When she 
came on, he could see that she was almost too 
nervous to draw her breath. Every nerve in her 
body was quivering. She was like a little sack full 
of live wires. She had enough magnetism to fill 
St. Paul’s Cathedral. He was not the only one 
to get it. The people got it. Fat drowsy men, 
who had come in for nothing, sat up and became 
active receiving-stations. As the Psalmist puts 
it, she “tried all their reins.” During the in- 
tervals, they staggered into the bar, wiping their 
eyes, and looking for somebody to whom they 
could say, “By God, sir!” 

For such a small audience, the noise at the fin- 


226 


THE GAY LIFE 


ish was extraordinary. Mr. Cuthbert Lawn hur- 
ried round to the stage through the pass-door and 
made a speech. He said: 

“Ladies. And Gentlemen. This. Has been. 
A night to. Remember. It has. Been. A very 
great. Pleasure. To me. To introduce. Such a 
charming. Play. To a Westbury. Audience. 
From the bottom. Of my heart. I thank you. 
Again and. Again. Good. Night.” 

But they didn’t budge. Not they. Austin 
Dawes went on, and was cheered, and retired, and 
went on again, and was cheered, and laughed, and 
bowed, and finally retired laughing and bowing 
to such an extent that he backed into the unfor- 
tunate Mr. Rew and trod rather heavily on that 
sensitive young gentleman’s toe. 

Still they called, and so Jilly went on. You 
should have heard the two women in the pit and 
the three women in the gallery who had come in 
with orders ! They screamed at her, and shouted 
“Brayvo, ducky!” and waved their handkerchiefs, 
and secretly resolved to stick the bills in the very 
middle of their windows with gelatines. And you 
should have heard the fat men who had also come 
in for nothing! They clapped, and shouted, and 
waved their hats, and made allusions to Bancroft, 
and Kendal, and Terry, and added a fervent “By 
God, sir!” to each name! 

Mr. Hallack took a call, and nobody had the 
least idea who he was, but they cheered all the 


“HIGHBROWS 1 


same. And then Mr. Cuthbert Lawn, with the 
most terrific beam within the memory of living 
playgoer, led on Jilly, and wrung her by the hand, 
and remained fixing the audience with his smile 
so long that the curtain came down and nearly 
finished off a promising career then and there! 

Never was such a night! But it wasn’t over 
yet, for there was a supper party at the principal 
hotel given by a Mr. Pollard, who took a pas- 
sionate interest in repertory and flashlight photo- 
graphs. The supper consisted of seven courses, 
and Mr. Pollard took a flashlight photograph of 
the whole company after each course. This de- 
layed matters somewhat, but nobody cared two- 
pence about the time — except the waiters — and 
Mr. Rew made a speech in which he assured the 
company, with tears in his eyes, that no man living 
could wish to work under a finer, nobler, splen- 
dider, and altogether jolly decent chap as — he 
meant than — Mr. Brothers. 

Mr. Cuthbert Lawn was not present, the exer- 
tions of the evening having proved so fatiguing, 
but Mr. Austin Dawes made a speech, in the 
midst of which he was flashlighted. Then Jilly 
made a speech, to the accompaniment of the 
wumph of the apparatus, and Jilly and Mr. Dawes 
were wumphed together, and the whole company 
were wumphed in a friendly bunch. Last of all, 
by an ingenious arrangement which included a 
piece of string and a bootlace borrowed from the 


228 


THE GAY LIFE 


head-waiter, Mr. Pollard managed to wumph him- 
self, with Jilly on his right, Nell Dinwiddy on his 
left, Austin Dawes at the back, Miss Kewley and 
Miss Ruggles — who had supped exclusively off 
the fruit — tenderly wound together on the left, 
and Mr. Brothers and Mr. Rew, right hands 
clasped, gazing steadily and manfully into each 
other’s eyes, on the right. 

A motor-waggonette now arrived to convey the 
various members of the party to their respective 
homes, for Mr. Pollard did things well and with a 
becoming reverence for Art. Much hand-shaking 
and even a little kissing ensued, in the midst of 
which Mr. Rew suddenly remembered that Austin 
Dawes had stepped on his toe after taking a 
second call, and challenged that person to instant 
combat in the hall of the hotel. Mr. Dawes ac- 
cepting the challenge, a space was cleared, and 
Mr. Pollard, with great expedition, set up his 
flashlight apparatus; but the ladies of the party, 
emerging from the cloak-room in the nick of 
time, forbade the combat and bundled Mr. Rew 
into the waggonette. All the others followed, 
the door was slammed, three cheers were given 
for Mr. Pollard, and away they went, followed by 
the execrations of the stupid visitors to the hotel, 
who could not understand that the discovery of a 
new and successful dramatist was of such impor- 
tance that they might well have been burnt in their 
beds to celebrate the event. 


“HIGHBROWS” 


229 


v 

On approaching the theatre the following eve- 
ning, having gloated over enthusiastic notices in 
all the local papers and even some London ones, 
Jilly and Nell Dinwiddy beheld an unexpected 
sight. Round the corner from the little lane which 
contained the entrances to the pit and gallery, 
and far up the broad street which they were de- 
scending, stretched a line of waiting females, 
standing two by two. 

“What’s doing?” asked Jilly. “Is that the way 
to the soup-kitchen?” 

“My child,” replied Miss Dinwiddy, in an awe- 
struck voice, “that’s a queue!” 

“Not for us?” 

“Yes — for us! We’re a success, Jilly!” 

“You’re sure there isn’t some mistake? You’re 
sure there’s no soup-kitchen or free packets of 
tea?” 

“Quite sure. I’ve seen a queue like that be- 
fore, but never so quickly after such a poor Mon- 
day night. Besides, the play has hardly been 
advertised at all. My word, won’t they all be 
bucked!” 

And, sure enough, bucked they all were, for a 
provisional notice to end the season the follow- 
ing week had been stuck up at the stage-door the 


THE GAY LIFE 


230 

day before, and now, lo and behold, that notice 
had disappeared! 

Before the curtain rose, the pit was nearly full 
and the gallery quite full. The other parts were 
fairly good, but there was room for improvement. 
The Wednesday matinee beat the Tuesday night, 
Wednesday evening was better than the matinee f 
and so things progressed until the Saturday night, 
when Westbury witnessed the somewhat unusual 
sight of a long queue of well-dressed people im- 
patiently jostling each other in their eagerness 
to book seats for the boxes, stalls, and dress-circle. 

“Why not run it another week?” suggested 
Austin Dawes to Mr. Cuthbert Lawn. 

“Can’t” 

“Why not?” 

“Other. Arrangements. Made.” 

“Couldn’t they be postponed? You see, the 
people are only just getting to know about the 
play.” 

Mr. Lawn shook his head, sorrowfully but de- 
terminedly. 

“Im. Possible.” 

“Well, what about London?” 

“Nothing. Doing. At present.” 

“Any one been up to see it?” 

“No.” 

“How’s that? Don’t they want plays?” 

“Yes.” 

“Then I should have thought it might be worth 


“HIGHBROWS” 231 

their while to come as far as Westbury to see an 
admitted success ! After all, here’s the play be- 
ing done for them before an actual audience! 
What more can they want?” 

Mr. Cuthbert Lawn rolled his head slowly 
from side to side, and smiled the famous enig- 
matic smile. 

“They won’t. Budge.” 

“But why on earth not? Where’s the sense of 
it? Are they afraid of railway accidents? 
Haven’t they got the fare? What’s the sense of 
it?” 

“Ask me. Another.” 

And, with that, Mr. Dawes was supposed to be 
content. But he was not content. His play was 
a success, and he saw no reason why it should 
be snuffed out of existence after one week’s trial 
at Westbury. After the curtain had finally 
fallen, therefore, and the calls and cheers had 
been repeated with the greater volume of a packed 
house, he waylaid Jilly, and extracted a promise 
that she and Miss Dinwiddy would sup with him 
at his hotel. 

“Well,” asked Jilly, when hunger had been ap- 
peased, “what’s the news, Mister Author?” 

“I’m afraid there’s no news, Miss Nipchin.” 

“What? You don’t mean to tell me this piece 
hasn’t been snapped up for town?” 

“So far as I know, not even a nibble.” 


232 


THE GAY LIFE 


“But do they know about it?” 

“Oh, yes, they must know about it. There were 
notices in some of the London papers, and I wired 
to four or five managers myself.” 

“Then what is it? What more do they want? 
We started with sixpence in the house, and fin- 
ished up with every seat sold. If that isn’t prov- 
ing the pudding by eating it, what is?” 

“I don’t know. It beats me. I had a talk to 
Cuthbert Lawn about it this evening.” 

“And what did he say?” 

“Well, he didn’t say much, but he looked a lot. 
He doesn’t seem at all surprised that the Lon- 
don managers haven’t been up.” 

July was baffled, for her experience in this 
branch of the profession was limited. But being 
baffled did not prevent her from being indignant. 
If the London managers wouldn’t come as far as 
Westbury to see a successful play, then she had 
been wasting her time and energies and money. 
So she said precisely what she thought about them, 
which did no particular harm to anybody and 
certainly relieved her feelings a little. 

“Would you mind telling me,” she asked, pres- 
ently, “who this play belongs to?” (Business is 
business, and grammar be hanged!) 

“It belongs to me,” replied the author. 

“But haven’t these people here got a noption?” 

“Yes, for one month after production.” 


“HIGHBROWS” 233 

“And then, if they don’t take it up, the play is 
yours to do what you like with?” 

“Precisely.” 

“Well, Mr. Dawes, I’m interested in this play 
for more than one reason. I think it’s a mighty 
good play, and I like the part, and I should like 
to play the part in town. And there’s other rea- 
sons. If the folks here don’t take up their nop- 
tion, will you give me the next cut at it?” 

“With the greatest pleasure.” 

“On the usual terms, mind!” 

“Oh, well, we can talk about that ” 

“Cut it out, old sport! You don’t write plays 
for your health, any more than I act for mine. 
I don’t know how long it takes to write a play, 
but I know they can’t be done in next to no time 
at all — not if they’re to be any good. If it suits 
me to get a noption on your play, I ought to pay 
for that noption, and pay I shall, so you can take 
it or leave it. Let’s see. Where are we now? 
April. Right. You wouldn’t object to a sum- 
mer season, I suppose?” 

Mr. Austin Dawes explained that he was not 
in a position to quarrel with any season, summer 
or winter. 

“Right,” said Jilly. “Now we know where we 
stand. I’d fixed meself a bit of a holiday for the 
summer, but I don’t know that it wouldn’t suit me 
better to be doing a change of work. So you 


234 


THE GAY LIFE 


come to me in a month’s time, young fellow, and 
let me know the time of day. Is it a deal?” 

They shook hands on it. Nobody needed a 
better contract than that when they were dealing 
with Jilly. 


CHAPTER VIII 


“top-notchers” 

» 

I 

On a certain afternoon in May of the same 
year, the porter of the Hotel Exquisite, London, 
W., sunned himself on the front steps, and re- 
garded the streams of humanity passing to and 
fro beneath him with a tolerant and almost kindly 
eye. Every now and again he was compelled to 
descend the steps and open the door of a brough- 
am or a landaulette. It would be absurd to sug- 
gest that he liked this task, but, being a man of 
sterling stuff, he did it without audible com- 
plaint. He had a shrewd memory for faces, and 
he made a mental note of the people thus assisted, 
with an appropriate item against each name. He 
had his own tariff. 

Presently, however, the porter of the Hotel 
Exquisite uttered an exclamation that sounded 
shocked and angry. A taxi-cab — and a shabby, 
well-worn taxi-cab at that — had had the im- 
pertinence to pull up in front of his sacred steps ! 
Some mistake, surely! The porter did not budge 
an inch. 


235 


THE GAY LIFE 


236 

A small hand, neatly gloved, came through the 
window and began to battle with the handle of 
the door. Seeing this, the porter condescended 
to saunter down the steps and assist the gloved 
hand. Whereupon the small owner jumped out 
and stood looking up at this splendidly terrifying 
individual. The porter, in his turn, stared down. 

“How do! n said Jilly. 

The porter inclined his head a sixteenth of an 
inch. 

“I’ve come for the washing,” continued Jilly. 

The driver of the taxi-cab laughed, and the 
porter grew rather pink. 

“Is this the backdoor or the front?” persisted 

Jilly- 

“This is the Front Entrance of the Hotel Ex- 
quisite,” replied the porter. 

“Ho ! May I venchar to enquiar whethar you 
know Sir William Mylchreest?” 

“I have that pleasure.” 

“Ho! Well, unless you wish to keep him all 
to yourself, my buck, just stand aside and then 
p’r’aps I might get to know him, too.” 

She paid the cabman, who touched his hat after 
looking at the coin. This impressed the porter, 
who followed Jilly up the broad steps with a more 
agile gait. Taking no further notice of him, Jilly 
marched into the hall and up to the desk. 

“Sir William Mylchreest, madam?” The clerk 


“TOP-NOTCHERS” 237 

looked a little doubtful. “Have you an appoint- 
ment?” 

“Oh, dear, no!” retorted Jilly, who had delib- 
erately worked herself into an aggressive frame 
of mind as an antidote to a bad attack of nerves. 
“Pm quite in the habit of dropping in on titled 
gents just to pass the time of day!” 

“I’m very sorry, madam, but we have to exer- 
cise great care. So many undesirable people are 
constantly endeavouring to secure an interview 
with Sir William. If you will kindly give me your 
card, and take a seat, I will let Sir William know 
that you are here.” 

“Very nicely said,” commented Jilly. “Go up 
top. But I don’t go in for cards. Jilly Nipchin 
is my name.” 

The clerk was quite unimpressed. Taking a 
slip of paper, he proceeded to write down the 
name. 

“Dipchin, madam?” 

“No, young man. Not Dipchin. Nipchin. 
N-I-P, Nip; C-H-I-N, Chin: Nipchin. If you 
look on the wall behind you, you’ll see it in nice 
big print for young readers.” 

But the clerk would not look on the wall behind 
him. He beckoned to a page-boy, handed him the 
slip of paper, and told him to take it to Sir Wil- 
liam Mylchreest, who was in the Winter Garden. 

Jilly stared about her. She was nicely dressed 
in white, but nothing could disguise the smallness 


THE GAY LIFE 


238 

of her stature or the quaint whimsicality of her 
pretty, clever little face. She had nothing what- 
ever in common with the large, rustling, severe- 
looking women who, without cessation, passed in 
and out of the hotel. 

The page-boy returned. 

“Sir William Mylchreest’s compliments, miss, 
and will you kindly step into the Winter Garden?” 

Jilly followed him down a long softly-carpeted 
passage. It was deliciously cool in the hotel, and 
wonderfully quiet. Not a sound to jar on the 
nerves. Nothing but the occasional click of a 
lift and a murmur of well-bred voices. 

The page-boy threw open a glass door, and 
Jilly caught a glimpse of numerous women in 
splendid gowns and amazing hats. They were all 
talking, and smiling, and waving their feathers, 
and sipping tea out of tiny cups. An appalling 
sight ! 

“Is Sir William alone?” she whispered to the 
page-boy, suddenly overcome with terror. 

“No, miss; Sir William and Lady Mylchreest 
are holding a reception.” 

“Good God!” said Jilly. 

But she was in for it now, for several of the 
huge women had begun to stare at this curious 
little object, and somebody was twitching at Sir 
William’s sleeve. So far as Jilly could see, he 
was the only man present. 

He turned, and the familiar features — familiar 


TOP-NOTCHERS” 


239 

through a thousand photographs as well as across 
the footlights — relaxed into the famous smile that 
has agitated such numberless feminine hearts the 
world over, and brought the great comedian a 
huge fortune and the honour of knighthood. The 
voice of an actor, the figure of an actor, the 
genius of an actor — these things compel admira- 
tion ; but it is the smile that wins hearts, and the 
actor who cannot smile his way into the hearts 
of the public never reaches the heights attained 
by Sir William Mylchreest. 

He came towards her, his hand outstretched 
with all the charm of manner that had been his 
for so many years. Even Jilly could see at a 
glance that he was perfectly at home among all 
these women. To note him threading his way 
through them gave her exactly the same impres- 
sion as sitting in the stalls or pit of the Bodega 
Theatre. 

“How do you do?” he growled musically. 
“Let me find you a chair in a quiet corner. We’ll 
escape as soon as we can and go up to my room. 
Ah! Here’s my dear friend Julie Mummery! 
Julie, dear, I want you to look after Miss — er — 
Miss — er — Dear me! Dear me!” He snapped 
his fingers with vexation at having allowed the 
name to escape him, and ruffled his silvery hair 
with the other hand. 

“Why,” said Miss Mummery, in her jolly, 


240 THE GAY LIFE 

hearty, unaffected way, “it’s Jilly Nipchin, isn’t 
it?” 

“Of course!” said Sir William, with a gasp 
of relief. “Of course! Miss Hipchin! How 
stupid of me!” 

Miss Mummery, who was a privileged friend 
of Sir William and Lady Mylchreest, and gen- 
erally appeared in their productions, shook Jilly 
by the hand and smiled at her in the most reas- 
suring manner. 

“I’ve seen your work, my dear, and I should 
have known you anywhere ! Come and sit down ! 
Send a cup of tea, Sir William, like a good soul ! 
Well, Miss Nipchin, and have you been to the 
garden-party?” 

“Garden-party?” replied Jilly. “No, I haven’t 
been to no garden-party. Is there one on?” 

“Oh, yes, the Royal Garden-Party, you know! 
We’ve all been. I thought perhaps you’d come 
on from there. Surely you had an invitation?” 

“Oh, yes,” said Jilly, “but it would have meant 
washing me hair, so I cried off, see?” 

“Quite so,” assented Miss Mummery, a little 
chilled. “You know Sir William and Lady Myl- 
chreest well, perhaps?” 

“Backwards,” said Jilly simply. 

“Dolly’s looking very sweet, don’t you think?” 

“Dolly who?” 

“I mean Lady Mylchreest. We always call 
her Dolly.” 


‘TOP-NOTCHERS ! 


“Oh. Well, up ter now, I haven’t seen her. I 
s’pose all these are top-notchers, eh?” 

Miss Mummery smiled indulgently. 

“Well, I daresay they would be called some- 
thing like that by the man in the street. That 
tall woman in the mulberry silk is the Countess 
of Dodding, and the girl she’s talking to is the 
Hon. Evelyn Lapper, who is engaged to Lord 
Bowes. We’re all so pleased about it!” 

“And me,” said Jilly. “I’m ’arf off me dot with 
delight.” 

“You know Evie?” 

“Well, who doesn’t?” 

“Exactly. She goes everywhere. And where 
are you playing just now, Miss Nipchin? I think 
I saw you last at the London Amphitheatre.” 

“Yes, I was there for a bit, but I think of giv- 
ing up the halls.” 

“Really?” Miss Mummery’s eyes opened very 
wide. “That will mean a great loss, won’t it?” 

“For the halls? Yes, I’m afraid it will. But 
I’ve been playing with the Westbury Repertory 
lately, and I find that kind of work very agree- 
able.” 

“But very exacting, surely?” 

“Well, they make you sweat a bit. But who 
minds that? Have you ever played in repertory, 
Miss Mummery?” 

“Er — no, I can’t say I have. One is always 
so occupied in the West End. Er — excuse me a 


242 


THE GAY LIFE 


moment! I just want to say a word to the 
Duchess before she goes!” 

Jilly, left to herself in the corner of the Winter 
Garden, looked round upon the leaders of Lon- 
don Society with an amused twinkle in her merry 
grey eyes. 

“Well, my dear,” she said to herself, “you ap- 
pear to be getting on! All you want is more 
push. Swank, my girl; that’s the ticket! You 
floored the lady about the repertory racket, and 
there’s no reason why you shouldn’t floor the lot! 
Be at home, be easy, and the trick’s done. 
Waiter!” 

An individual with powdered hair bent over 
her obsequiously. 

“I don’t like this tea, my lad. It’s a bit stewed. 
Just pitch it away, and bring me a nice cool whisky 
and soda. Sharp’s the word!” 

“Very good, miss.” And the waiter glided off 
like a figure on silent castors. 

“There you are !” continued Jilly to herself. 
“Easy as easy! But I do wish Ed Chauncey could 
see me now, ter say nothing of mother, and dad, 
and Orris ! ’Ullo ! ’Ere comes Sir William-All- 
Smiles! You’ve got to go through it, my lad, 
and there’s no two ways about it!” 


TOP-NOTCHERS’ 


243 


11 

“A thousand apologies!” exclaimed the great 
actor. “Lady Mylchreest insisted on my showing 
up ! Lord, how I hate all these functions !” 

“Poor old thing!” replied Jilly, in a motherly 
tone. “Why don’t you sit down and join me in 
a glass of something cool?” 

Sir William smiled. 

“You’re taking care of yourself, then? That’s 
right.” 

“You bet I am. And I should advise you to do 
the same, Sir William. This social racket’s all 
very well for those that like it, but it takes it out 
of you for night. Stands to reason.” 

The actor-manager nodded. He had but the 
vaguest idea what she was talking about. He 
was studying her as a type, and especially as a 
type for the central part of the play submitted 
to him by Mr. Austin Dawes. 

They made a quaint couple, sitting together in 
the corner of the Winter Garden. The great 
ladies smiled as they glanced in that direction. 
Jilly noticed the smiles. They hurt, but she would 
not wince. Undoubtedly, she was getting on. 

The great ladies were all gone at last, and 
Sir William led the way to the lift. His suite of 
rooms was on the top floor, commanding a glori- 
ous and expansive view of the Park. Jilly gasped. 


THE GAY LIFE 


244 

She had never even dreamed of the existence of 
such rooms. Fancy living there all the year round, 
except when you chose to go elsewhere! Fancy 
having all those hotel servants, as well as your 
own servants, to run about for you and wait on 
you from morning till night 1 Fancy having every- 
thing you wanted, always, till you died! Every - 
thing — food, clothes, luxurious travel, homage, 
flowers, wines, sunshine, excitement, and the 
power of giving pleasure to others ! 

It seemed almost too much. She studied Sir 
William Mylchreest, much as he had studied her. 
How did he stand it? Was he radiantly happy, or 
did he, secretly, agree with her that it was too 
much? He was sitting at a table, pince-nez on 
nose, poring over the manuscript of the play. His 
brow was wrinkled in thought, and his silvery 
hair more rumpled than ever. 

“Now, tell me, Miss — er — Miss — er — ! Dear 
me ! Dear me !” And he snapped his fingers. 

“Nipchin” said Jilly. “N-I-P, Nip; C-H-I-N, 
chin. Nipchin. Funny name, ain’t it?” 

“Forgive me, Miss Pipchin. You played in 
this piece somewhere in the provinces, I believe?” 

“That’s right. Westbury. And I tell you, Sir 
William, we fairly bit ’em in the neck!” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“I say we fairly bit ’em in the neck. You know 
— got ’em down and jumped on ’em! It was a 
cinch, as my pal Ed Chauncey used to say. Sure 


“TOP-NOTCHERS” 245 

thing. Lead pipe. Rock-bottom. Took ’em 
sitting. See what I mean?” 

“I have seen the nightly returns. They are 
quite encouraging. But Westbury is not Lon- 
don, Miss — er — Miss — er — . No. Westbury is 
not London. The London audience is the most 
pampered audience in the world. One must be 
very careful not to jar on their sensibilities. I 
have been in London management for many years, 
and that is the greatest lesson I have learnt — that 
the London audience is a pampered audience, and 
must be studied very carefully.” 

“Wot, pampered some more?” 

“Exactly.” 

“Why not give it them a bit straight for once?” 

“Ah, there you show your inexperience, Miss 
— er — . One cannot afford to play tricks of that 
kind with the London public. Management is too 
costly. One false step and a fortune is lost.” He 
began to stride up and down the room, running 
his hand through his hair. “People talk to me 
about my luck. Luck? Any success that I have 
had in my career, Miss Chin, is due to the fact 
that I always acted at once on my judgment, and 
always studied the pampered West End public. 
I have met storms, and weathered them. I have 
had hostile critics, and silenced them. I have had 
obstinate authors, and overcome them. Day after 
day, week after week, month after month, year 
after year, fighting, fighting, fighting! Always 


THE GAY LIFE 


246 

fighting! Sometimes losing, sometimes winning, 
but always fighting ! And then they talk to me of 
luck! I may have had luck, Miss Chin, but I 
attribute my success to the fact that I studied the 
public and never outraged their sensibilities!” 

“I see,” said Jilly, feeling, despite her resolu- 
tion, very small. 

‘‘Now, then, Miss Chin. About this play. The 
author tells me you wish to put it on in London 
and play your original part?” 

“Well, I don’t quite know about putting it on. 
I’m afraid I couldn’t afford to do that.” 

“What could you afford? I mean, how much 
are you prepared to stake over this venture if I 
decide to give it a chance?” 

“That all depends, don’t it?” 

“I don’t understand you.” 

“I suppose it all depends how much was wanted. 
I’m new to all this, you see. Mr. Austin Dawes 
told me you’d read the play, and liked it, and 
might put it on at the Bodega if somebody was 
prepared to stand in over it. But he didn’t say 
how much they would have to find.” 

“Ah! Could you find a thousand pounds?” 

“I’m afraid not,” replied Jilly. She was quite 
humble now. This magnificent person of great 
experience, and this palatial apartment, had swept 
all her little bundle of swank into the air. 

“Five hundred?” 

“Yes, I could manage five hundred.” 


“TOP-NOTCHERS” 


247 


“You’re prepared to lose that amount?” 

“Y-es, if necessary. But I’d rather not.” 

“That won’t do, Miss Jaw. If we’re going to 
be partners in this little venture, I want to feel 
that you’re doing something you want to do, that 
it is worth your while to do, and that you can 
afford. You must be prepared to lose any sum 
that you put up. If I lend my theatre, and my 
staff, back and front, and my orchestra, and my 
scenery, I shall take, in return for all that, half 
the gross' receipts.” 

“Oh, certainly,” said Jilly. 

“Those are the usual sharing terms. Now 
comes the question of the money to produce and 
run the play. The scenery, I think, we have in 
stock. The company must find their own dresses. 
If I add five hundred pounds to your five hun- 
dred, we ought to be able to give the play a decent 
trial. And we divide any profits. That is to 
say, on one side, I am the manager; on the other 
side, I am half the visiting company and you are 
the other half. Is that all clear?” 

“Clear as daylight,” said Jilly. 

“Very well. I will go into the matter with my 
manager, and he will let you have my decision. 
What about the cast? Were any of those young 
people in the provinces any good?” 

“Oh, yes!” exclaimed Jilly, with enthusiasm. 
“They were splendid! We ought to have them 


248 THE GAY LIFE 

all ! They’re finishing there this week, so there’d 
be no difficulty!” 

“I don’t know about having them all, but we 
might make use of some. Who rehearsed the 
play?” 

“Mr. Hallack. Oh, you must have him! He 
was wonderful! It couldn’t help being a success 
if we had Mr. Hallack!” 

The great actor paused, folded his arms, and 
fixed Jilly with a look that went right through her 
small frame and came out on the other side. 

“ ‘Couldn’t help being a success,’ Miss Bone? 
■Never siay that! Let me advise you never to say 
that of any play! I have had a long experience 
— an experience stretching over decades before 
you were born! I have seen changes — strange 
changes in London theatrical life ! And I tell you 
for your benefit that I never know — not even to 
this day — when a play is going to succeed and 
when a play is going to fail! I have made for- 
tunes out of plays that nobody believed in but 
myself! On the other hand, I have produced 
plays by the best living authors, I have cast them 
with the best obtainable actors and actresses, I 
have lavished money on the dresses and the scen- 
ery — all to no purpose! The one thing, Miss 
Bone, that we never know in this profession is 
whether we are working for success or working 
for failure! So don’t build your hopes on any 
author, or any theatre, or any cast, or any pro- 


TOP-NOTCHERS’ 


ducer! That is my earnest and most solemn ad- 
vice !” 

Crushed? Jilly was a mere speck of dust in 
the corner of the fender! She was invisible! 
Sir William Mylchreest, a thousand miles high, 
was stalking over the place where she had been ! 
Swank? Oh, my poor little Jilly! How could 
you expect to hold your own with the accumulated 
wisdom of so many years ! In your humility, my 
child, pray for a friendly puff of wind to remove 
you from the fender and whisk you into the lift ! 

“I see,” was all she said, in the meekest, stillest 
little voice. 

“Good.” Sir William, having delivered his 
tremendous broadside, proceeded briskly to prac- 
tical matters once again. “I suppose this gentle- 
man you mention can see me at any time?” 

“I’m sure he’d be only too pleased.” 

“And there are some others, I gather?” 

“Oh, yes, I think so.” Note the change of tone 
in Jilly. “There’s my friend, Miss Dinwiddy — 
such a clever actress! She made a great success 
at Westbury! If ever a girl ought to be acting 
in London, she ought ! She’s a lady — not like me. 
Oh, do let’s have Nell in it!” 

“I will see her with pleasure. My manager 
will arrange the interviews, if you will kindly 
give him the names.” 

“Oh, thank you, Sir William! Should I go 
now?” 


THE GAY LIFE 


250 

“Er — I think we’ve nearly done. By the way, 
my stage-manager is leaving me. Would the man 
who knows the play be available?” 

“Y-es, I should think so.” 

“You seem doubtful?” 

“Well, Mr. Brothers, of course, knows the 
play, but there’s an old friend of mine, Mr. Plam, 
and I once promised him that if ever I went into 
management on me own ” 

“Allow me to remind you, Miss — er — Dear 
me! Dear me! You name has escaped me again ! 
I had it perfectly a moment ago!” 

“Nipchin.” 

“Yes, yes! Of course! Miss Lipchin! Allow 
me to remind you, Miss Lipchin, that you will not 
be in management ‘on your own.’ Strictly speak- 
ing, you will not be in management at all. I shall 
retain control — unless you have any better scheme 
to suggest?” 

“Oh, no. Certainly not,” faltered Jilly. 

“Then, you see, your promise to your old friend 
does not apply in this case. Besides, it is to the 
interest of everybody to have as stage-manager a 
man who knows the play. I will see him and 
judge for myself. I think that’s all.” 

He touched the bell; A man-servant stole in 
without a sound, and Jilly stole after him to the 
lift. The lift stole up, the gate clicked, and Jilly 
stole down to the hall. 


“TOP-NOTCHERS” 251 

“Taxi, miss?” asked the porter, with a defer- 
ential bow. 

“What?” replied Jilly, rather dazed. 

“Shall I call you a taxi, miss?” 

“Eh? Oh, no, thank you. I’ll walk a little — 
somewhere.” 

She crept into the Park, and sat down on the 
first available seat. Far above her, in his regal 
suite, Sir William Mylchreest was being prepared 
for the dazzling glories of the evening. 


Ill 

It was the morning of the first rehearsal of the 
play that was to decide the fate of Jilly’s five 
hundred pounds — her entire savings — to say 
nothing of her reputation as a West End actress. 
The little stage of the Bodega Theatre was 
crowded, for the cast was a long one. The players 
divided themselves naturally into two groups. On 
the one hand, you had the young, alert, nervous, 
enthusiastic members of the Westbury Reper- 
tory; on the other hand, the players of estab- 
lished West End reputations who had been called 
in to lend tone, strength, and popularity to the 
cast. 

Jilly, of course, was chatting with the former 
group. Miss Dinwiddy, too, was there, with 
Mr. Smallbone, Miss Kewley, Miss Ruggles, Mr. 


252 THE GAY LIFE 

Brothers, Mr. Rew, and Mr. Hallack, specially 
engaged to “produce.” 

The Londoners were Miss Julie Mummery, 
Miss Hardaway, Miss Mary Raleigh, and Mr. 
Sam Bover. Miss Mummery we have already 
met; of the others, what can one say that is not 
already known to both hemispheres? Miss Hard- 
away’s luscious beauty and startling gowns; Miss 
Mary Raleigh’s caustic witticisms; Mr. Sam 
Bover’s excruciating lisp — are they not all as fa- 
miliar to the playgoing public as any cure-all 
upon the hoardings ? 

The little people from Westbury gazed with 
badly disguised awe at these miracles of beauty 
and intelligence. Conscious themselves of keen 
anxiety as to the result of the venture, they looked 
in vain for any sign of trepidation on the part of 
the London favourites. They discussed anything 
but the play, these great ones. Miss Julie Mum- 
mery bemoaned the sad necessity of playing in 
town at all when so many social functions were 
demanding her presence, but, as they knew, dear 
Sir William must not be thwarted, and “Dolly” 
had added her supplications to those of dear Sir 
William. 

What must it be, thought the Westbury Reper- 
tory, to have a great actor-manager on his knees 
before you, begging you to play an excellent part 
in an excellent play at an excellent salary? Thrills 
and tremors ! 


TOP-NOTCHERS 5 


Miss Hardaway was immensely occupied with a 
small dog named “Etcetera.” “Etcetera” was 
nearly as famous as his famous mistress. He had 
been photographed with her one hundred and 
seven times, and his picture had been cut out of 
innumerable illustrated papers and pinned up over 
innumerable beds and chests-of-drawers. He had 
been lost, advertised for, and found eleven times. 
Now he was being kissed, and set down, and 
picked up again, and mumbled over, and fussed 
more than any human baby could ever expect. 
Good heavens, what did the play matter if “Et- 
cetera” was not completely and radiantly happy? 

Miss Mary Raleigh was chatting with Mr. Sam 
Bover. Her tones were low, but the matter must 
have been brilliant in the extreme, for Mr. Bover 
punctuated it with shrill sniggers every fifteen sec- 
onds precisely. 

“Well,” said Mr. Hallack to Jilly at last, “I 
should think we might make a start.” 

“Don’t do anything rash!” retorted Jilly, whose 
grey eyes had an ominous gleam in them. 

Mr. Hallack, who had yet to find his feet in 
London, approached the celestials. 

“I think we might begin now,” he said. 

Miss Mummery looked at the stalls. 

“Has Sir William arrived?” she asked icily. 

“No, but we’ve wasted half an hour already. 
As I’m producing ” 

“Oh, but we can’t possibly do anything without 


254 THE GAY LIFE 

Sir William!” chimed in Miss Hardaway. “Et- 
cetera never rehearses unless the manager is in 
front, do you, my Ducksy-Wucksy-Diddlums?” 
And the famous beauty buried her classic features 
in the coat of the wriggling little hound. 

Mr. Hallack turned to Jilly. 

“What do you say, Miss Nipchin?” 

The stars suddenly concentrated their beams 
on Jilly. Miss Julie Mummery raised her 
lorgnette. 

“Why, surely,” she cried, “we have met be- 
fore somewhere?” 

Jilly advanced, and eyed the group with a look 
that meant business. 

“Yes, at the Hotel Exquisite,” she said. “I 
was there to arrange for this production with Sir 
William Mylchreest. We’re partners in the ven- 
ture, and so, in his absence, I guess I got the say. 
Start the rehearsal, please, Mr. Hallack. Time’s 
money.” 

Miss Mummery and Miss Hardaway ex- 
changed glances. Miss Raleigh said something 
in an undertone to Mr. Bover, who had such a 
terrible fit of giggling that Etcetera barked and 
yelped for sheer joy and excitement. 

“I think you all have your parts?” asked Mr. 
Hallack. 

“I’ve got mine,” replied Miss Mummery. “It’s 
shockingly badly typed. I can’t make rhyme or 
reason of half the lines !” 


“TOP-NOTCHERS” 


255 

“Oh, dear, where can mine have got to?” 
whined Miss Hardaway. “I think Etcetera must 
have eaten it! Have you gobbled it all up, you 
naughty little beloved Pipsy-Wipsy-Nigglums?” 

A tremendous search was made for Miss Hard- 
away’s part, which was discovered in the stage- 
doorkeeper’s box. The stage was cleared, and 
Miss Mummery made her first entrance. 

“I want you to come in by the centre door,” 
explained Mr. Hallack, “and sit down in this 
chair right.” 

Miss Mummery, scanning her part through 
her lorgnette f came slowly down stage, reading 
aloud the stage directions as she came. It took 
her fifteen minutes to get this entrance to her 
satisfaction, and then Sir William Mylchreest 
arrived. He, also, had a small dog at the end 
of a string. Sir William raised his hat, most ele- 
gantly, to the London ladies, and greeted the 
Westbury people with a comprehensive bow. 
Miss Mummery, frankly abandoning the re- 
hearsal, seized one of his hands in both of her 
own. 

“Dear Sir William,” she breathed, “how are 
you after the fatigues of last night?” 

“Pretty well! Pretty well!” growled the great 
actor. “Bob! Look at the rascal! He’s all 
round my legs, trying to trip me up! Look at 
’im! Look at ’im!” 

Miss Mummery laughed gaily, and Miss Hard- 


THE GAY LIFE 


256 

away languished, and Miss Raleigh said some- 
thing smart, and Mr. Bover giggled. Then they 
all rushed to disentangle the famous legs from 
the dog-lead, and a chair was brought and placed 
in the centre of the stage close to the floats, and 
Bob was tied to the leg of the chair. Sir William 
polisfcfcd his glasses and called for the property- 
master. 

The property-master, a smiling, jolly individual 
named Podd, appeared from a recess at the sum- 
mit of a short upright ladder. 

“Yes, Sir William?” 

“What about that set I promised to lend Sir 
Thomas Revill for the Royal matinee f Podd?” 

“That’ll be all right, Sir William. I’m just 
touching it up a bit now.” 

“Let me see, which scene was it?” 

“Tapestry chamber, Sir William.” 

“Oh, yes. Podd!” 

“Yes, Sir William?” 

“I want you to see it set up yourself, Podd.” 

“Very good, Sir William.” 

“And, Podd?” 

“Yes, Sir William?” 

“Give my compliments to Sir Thomas, and tell 
him I’ll attend to the lighting of the - scene my- 
self.” 

“Very good, Sir William.” 

“And, Podd?” 

“Yes, Sir William?” 


“TOP-NOTCHERS” 257 

“I think you’d better take charge of Bob, 
Podd.” 

“Very good, Sir William.” 

Podd came down the upright ladder, and ap- 
proached Bob, who began to snap and snarl. 
Miss Hardaway, still grasping the precious Et- 
cetera, screamed a little and ran up-stage, whilst 
Sir William rebuked Bob for his surly beffaviour. 
The great actor then endeavoured to disentangle 
Bob from the leg of the chair, during which 
process his pince-nez fell off and were broken, so 
that a long interval occurred whilst another pair 
was fetched from his private room. 

Half an hour later, the stars having previous 
engagements, some for luncheon and others for 
charity performances, the rehearsal was dismissed. 


IV 

Jilly took Miss Dinwiddy and Mr. Hallack out 
to lunch. She was quite candid about her mo- 
tives. 

. “You needn’t think it’s going to be a joy-lunch, 
because it isn’t ! Eve got to blow off steam or go 
mad! Three clear soups, waiter, and sharp about 
it! ‘My Ducksy-Wucksy-Diddlums !’ Oh, my 
Gawd!” And she clutched the little table with 
such vigour that it shook again. 

“Things will improve,” observed Mr. Hallack, 


THE GAY LIFE 


258 

in his soothing way. “This is only the first re- 
hearsal, you must remember.” 

“The poor dears had to impress us with their 
importance at the first rehearsal,” Miss Dinwiddy 
reminded her. 

But Jilly would have none of it. 

“Importance? Dash their importance ! What 
about my importance ! I’d like to set any one of 
’em down in the middle of a music-hall stage all 
by their little lonesomes and see how they got on ! 
There wouldn’t be much Ducksy-Wucksy-Diddlums 
and Pipsy-Wipsy-Nigglums about that, I can tell 
’em! ‘Etcetera never rehearses unless the man- 
ager is in front!’ Oh, ’e don’t, don’t ’e? He’ll 
be rehearsing all by himself at the end of a half- 
brick if I get much more of it! I won’t stand it, 
and so I give you fair notice ! I’ve got five hun- 
dred Jimmy O’Goblins in that show — five hun- 
dred of the best that I earned all on me little own 
with the sweat of me little brow! D’you think 
I’m going to see Ducksy-Wucksy-Diddlums do in 
the lot? Not much! Not for Jilly! Oh, my 
hat, no!” 

Here she took three spoonfuls of soup with 
extraordinary rapidity. 

“And Podd, you know!” she went on with re- 
newed energy. “‘I say, Podd! What about me 
and the King, Podd?’ As if his rotten old matinee 
had anything to do with us, and our time, and our 
play, and our livings ! What do they care about 


TOP-NOTCHERS’ 


us, these people? Nothing! So much dirt! All 
right. Let ’em wait! There’ll be such an al- 
mighty bust-up on that stage one of these days 
as’ll send Pipsy-Wipsy-Nigglums into a ducksy- 
wucksy fit or my name ain’t Jilly Nipchin!” 

Mr. Hallack and Nell Dinwiddy exchanged 
glances. They understood each other. It was far 
better that Jilly should “blow off steam” here 
than in the theatre. So they let her run on. 

“What do we want with this West End push?” 
demanded Jilly. “The show went all right at 
Westbury, didn’t it? There’s not such a deal of 
difference, I reckon, between Westbury people 
and London people? I told him so. I told him 
I wanted nothing better than the show we gave 
there, but he talked me down. Oh, a tremen- 
dous lot about his experience ! I don’t say he isn’t 
experienced, but there’s such a thing, to my mind, 
as being too experienced. Mark my words, this 
show’s going to be ruined in London!” 

Here Miss Dinwiddy and Mr. Hallack felt 
bound to protest. They pointed out that Sir Wil- 
liam undoubtedly knew his public. A long string 
of successes proved that. Every theatre had its 
special public, and the Bodega public must have 
the Bodega traditions upheld. 

“Then all I can say is,” retorted Jilly, ‘‘that 
we’re in the wrong theatre ! That’s what’s the 
matter ! This isn’t a swell Society play, and noth- 
ing will make it into one, not all the Bobs and 


260 THE GAY LIFE 

Podds and Mummerys and Bovers and Raleighs 
and Hardaways in the blooming world! Dash 
it, I s’pose I’ve got a bit of a name as well as 
them ? Any one would think the halls and the the- 
atres was as far apart as Heaven and the other 
place ! See ’em jump when they get a chance of 
taking money from the halls!* Not ’arf ! Oh, I’m 
sorry, Nell, but you shouldn’t have anything to 
do with such a vulgar little wretch!” 

Towards the end of luncheon, she calmed down 
a little, and even managed to laugh over certain 
events of the morning. But anxiety returned 
when she was alone in her flat. She could not 
boast of Sir William’s vast and rather tiresome 
experience, but she had a keen instinct for all 
things of the theatre, and she felt convinced that 
the two schools — the old and the new — would 
never harmonise. The new wanted realism; the 
old wanted convention. That was the whole mat- 
ter in a nutshell. 

None the less, Jilly kept herself well in hand 
for the next few days. Austin Dawes, the au- 
thor, was present at the rehearsals, and no day 
passed on which he was not urged — which almost 
amounted to a command — to alter his play in or- 
der to bring it within the conventional West End 
scope. 

“I’ll tell you what’s happening,” he told Jilly. 
“They’re gradually taking all the devil out of it.” 

“Well,” she retorted, “why do you put up with 


“TOP-NOTCHERS” 261 

it? Why don’t you tackle old Mylchreest about 
it?” 

“I have tackled him. He says that he has de- 
voted the whole of his life to discovering what 
the West End public wants, and that he is con- 
vinced they must be pampered. I’m worried to 
death about the business. I’ll never write another 
play as long as I live.” 

“Oh, that’s silly,” said Jilly. “We’ll pull this 
out of the fire yet. Don’t you fear.” 

When the play had been in rehearsal about a 
week, the Royal matinee began to absorb Sir Wil- 
liam’s attention. This was a great chance for Hal- 
lack, Jilly, and the author. They stood together, 
and something of the old spirit began to creep 
back into the piece. Mr. Smallbone raised his 
head a little, Miss Kewley and Miss Ruggles spoke 
their lines with more confidence, and Jilly suc- 
ceeded in sending Podd into a genuine fit of laugh- 
ter. There was a tradition at the Bodega that if 
Podd laughed during the rehearsals the play was 
all right. But it was unlike Podd’s usual tact to 
laugh at a new-comer, and a new-comer from the 
halls at that. The atmosphere grew electric. 

It was on the very day that Podd laughed, and 
towards the close of the rehearsal, that Miss 
Hardaway found serious fault with one of the 
lines. Her part had already been altered out of 
all recognition, in order that she might rely on 
getting the “sympathy” of the audience for a 


262 


THE GAY LIFE 


woman that the author had intended to be 
loathed. Now she objected to being spoken of 
by one of the other characters as a cat. 

“I must have that out, if you please,” said 
Miss Hardaway. 

Mr. Hallack turned to the author. 

“What do you say, Mr. Dawes?” 

“I see no objection to the word,” replied Mr. 
Dawes. 

Miss Hardaway smiled, not very pleasantly. 

“I daresay not, Mr. Dawes, but I do. And 
Sir William promised me that any alteration 
should be made in the play that I wished.” 

The statement was so staggering that even 
Podd whistled. A glance from Miss Hardaway, 
however, sent him scuttling back to his nest at 
the summit of the upright ladder. 

“If Sir William really promised that ” be- 

gan Mr. Dawes. 

“Do you doubt my word?” demanded Miss 
Hardaway, who had played in more melodramas 
than she cared to remember. 

“Oh, of course not,” observed the author. 

“Very well, then ! I object to being called a cat, 
and I must insist that the word be altered.” 

This drew Jilly into the transaction. Flesh and 
blood could stand it no longer. She had submitted 
to seeing her own part whittled down, and she 
had taken no outward notice of Miss Hardaway’s 
private slights and rudenesses, but this insistence 


TOP-NOTCHERS’ 


263 

on the right of any player to have the play al- 
tered as she chose brought down the scales with 
a bump. 

“If Mr. Dawes wishes the word to stand, it 
must stand,” she put in quietly. 

Miss Hardaway swung round like a big ship in 
a small harbour, and glared at Jilly. 

“Indeed, Miss Nipchin? And may I enquire 
what it has to do with you?” 

“You may!” returned Jilly, jumping up from 
her place in the stalls. “This play is being put up 
with my money. And money talks. Mr. Dawes 
has already made so many alterations that the 
whole spirit of the thing is gone, and I refuse 
to let him make any more. If he does, out I go ! 
That’s pretty straight, isn’t it?” 

“It’s exactly what I should have expected from 
you,” retorted Miss Hardaway. 

“I wonder!” said Jilly. “If you ask me, I think 
you expected me to sit here and see you and your 
rotten puppy-dog muck up the whole caboodle!” 

A significant hush fell upon the theatre. Miss 
Hardaway’s imperious manner and biting tongue 
were a byword in the profession. For years she 
had snubbed authors with impunity, and caused 
plays to be hacked about to bring them into line 
with her own tastes and wishes. Stage-directions 
were nothing to Miss Hardaway. No play had 
a soul of its own in which she condescended to ap- 
pear. If Euclid himself had attempted to reason 


THE GAY LIFE 


264 

with her, he would have received precisely the 
same treatment as the defunct Mr. Shakespeare 
and the living Mr. Dawes. Miss Hardaway would 
have explained to him, in her best stage-society 
manner, that the part, if it happened to be her own 
part, was greater than the whole. 

“That,” replied Miss Hardaway, after a dra- 
matic pause, “is quite sufficient. I have disliked 
this engagement from the first, but Sir William 
overruled my objections. Now he will see that I 
was right.” 

She was walking off the stage when Jilly, who 
had darted through the little pass-door, suddenly 
confronted her. With all deference to Mr. Aus- 
tin Dawes, Mr. Hallack felt that the contrast 
these two women presented was better than any 
scene in the play. 

“ ’Arf a mo !” said Jilly, deliberately dropping 
back into the vernacular of her early youth. 

“Well, my good woman, what is it?” 

“You said you disliked this engagement from 
the first. May I ask why?” 

“If you like, but I should advise you not to.” 

“Well, I do like! See? What was the matter 
with the engagement?” 

“Since you press me, I’m not accustomed to 
acting with amateurs” — she pronounced it “ama- 
choors” — “and music-hall people.” 

“Ho! So thet’s it, eh? Then jest allow me 
ter say this, Miss ’Ardaway. As fer self, I’m 


TOP-NOTCHERS’ 


2 65 

nothing, see? Nit! Dirt! Muck! But these 
boys an’ gels as ’ave come from Westbury ter 
play in this piece is artists! Understand me? 
Artists, every jack one! They don’t get yore sal- 
ery, nor yet mine, but I’m proud to play with 
’em, and I’ve put up with a lot rather’n see ’em 
chucked out of a job and lose their chance of 
making a hit in London! That’s wot I think of 
the people yew call amachoors ! As for yore part, 
I don’t care two pins whether you play it or not. 
It’s dead easy because it’s well written, same as 
mine. I expected this dust-up, and the lady who 
played the part at Westbury is living in my flat 
at this moment ready to go on. See? So yew 
can walk out as quick as you like, and take Pipsy- 
Wipsy-Nigglums with yer! And that 1 s bang orf 
the ice!” 

Miss Hardaway, , drawing her skirts about her, 
went. 


v 

Sir William Mylchreest, arriving at the theatre 
half an hour later, and finding Mr. Rew reading 
for Miss Hardaway, enquired the reason. 

Mr. Hallack explained that Miss Hardaway 
had thrown up her part. 

“Why?” asked Sir William, setting his back- 
teeth. 


266 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Becos I told ’er off,” said Jilly, who had back- 
teeth of her own. 

Sir William waved his hand. 

“Dismiss the rehearsal. Will you kindly step 
into my private room, Miss Bone?” 

Jilly, with a wink at Nell Dinwiddy, followed 
the majestic figure and silvery hair from the 
stage. 

“Pray sit down,” began Sir William. “Will 
you smoke a cigarette?” 

“No, thank you.” But the very offer was dis- 
arming. Jilly steeled herself. 

“Will you excuse me if I smoke?” 

“Oh, certingly.” 

Sir William, with great deliberation, lit a cig- 
arette in his most adorable stage manner, and 
then took a chair very close to Jilly’s. 

“Now,” he said, and then there was a long 
pause. 

Just as Jilly was about to thank him for this 
interesting conversation, and withdraw from the 
presence, he went on: 

“How long have you been on the stage, my 
dear?” 

“ ’Bout seven year,” replied Jilly. 

“And I was an old hand at this game before 
you were born. Think of that! Before you were 
born, long before you were born, I had been all 
through the grinding, grinding, GRINDING 
mill!” 


“TOP-NOTCHERS” 267 

Jilly thought of it. She felt that this was no 
argument, that the conversation was already run- 
ning off the rails, but the voice, and the manner, 
and the silvery hair, and the lined face, and the 
expressive eyes were having an effect upon her de- 
spite her intelligent wariness. The old simile of 
the bird and the snake came into her mind. She 
wondered, without actually putting the thought 
into words, whether the snake appeals to the 
bird’s sense of veneration? 

“Yes, my dear child, I had been all through 
it before you were born, and I am going through 
it still. The public think that the few of us who 
have climbed to the top of the tree have no more 
worries ! That we can do as we like ! Good 
heavens !” He rumpled his silvery hair. “If only 
we could ! If only we could produce the plays we 
like, with the casts we like, in the way we like !” 
His voice sank to a very deep note. “We can’t 
do it, my dear child! The struggle never ends! 
We are never free! We are slaves to the end — 
the slaves of the public ! 

“I want you to learn that. You have great 
talent — a great career before you!” (Oh, dash 
the beastly tears! It’s all up with J. N. if he 
sees ’em!) “I have watched your work on the 
stage, and I know as surely as I know anything 
that you have the true gift — the real thing — the 
golden treasure that so few possess ! I believe and 


268 THE GAY LIFE 

hope that you will rise to the very top of your 
profession!” 

“Thanks!” said Jilly, blinking very fast and 
taking an immense interest in an old playbill on 
the wall. 

“But let me give you one word of warning, my 
dear child. Don’t start your career — for you are 
really just starting it, despite your successes — 
don’t start your career by making enemies ! Don’t 
doit! Don’t do it! DON’T DO IT! It’s so 
unnecessary ! A little tact, a little yielding, a smile 
instead of a frown, and what a world of differ- 
ence! The anger gone; the difficulty smoothed 
away; a friend made instead of an enemy! 

“About this trivial incident this afternoon, now. 
I had a telephone-message from Miss — er — Miss 
Hardaway. She’s in great distress! She is, in- 
deed ! She feels that you have taken a dislike to 
her — that you wish her to throw up the part! 
Of course, as I told her, you wish nothing of the 
sort! You know that she is a great favourite, that 
she has a charming personality, that she will be 
one of the factors of our success ! And — as I re- 
plied to her — knowing all those things, how could 
you possibly wish her to throw up the part? You 
don’t, do you, my dear?” 

“Oh, no, not if ” 

“There! I was sure of it, and she will, of 
course, return to-morrow morning. But do just 
let me take this opportunity of warning you 


“TOP-NOTCHERS” 269 

against these rather pitiful little scenes in the 
theatre. Of what use are they? Whom can they 
possibly benefit? The play? The company? The 
author? No, no, no! They’re a mistake, my 
dear, a very great mistake! Have nothing to 
do with them ! Make up your mind never, on any 
account, to be led into them, and your stage career 
will be all the happier for it, and you will win — 
as you assuredly deserve to win — a multitude of 
friends instead of a host of enemies !” 

He laid his fatherly hand upon her shoulder 
and led her to the door. It was a pretty and a 
touching sight. Jilly, lingering in the passage to 
wipe her eyes, knew that she was vanquished. 
The forty years’ experience had done it! Right 
or wrong, the word “cat” would come out of the 
script on the morrow, and Miss Hardaway would 
crowd on more sail than ever. 


VI 

Sir William’s recipe for perfect happiness in 
the theatre notwithstanding, as the date of pro- 
duction drew nearer, the spirits of the author, and 
Jilly, and the little people from Westbury sank 
lower and lower. They all felt that the play was 
dead. It had been so tinkered at, and polished, 
and altered to please the palate of “the most 


THE GAY LIFE 


270 

pampered public in the world” that nothing re- 
mained but a neat little skeleton. 

The Royal matinee was over, and Sir William 
had been able to devote the whole of his time to 
rehearsals. In that genial presence, Miss Hard- 
away had gradually burst into full bloom, rivalled 
only by Miss Julie Mummery. The latter lady, 
who had to represent the wife of a poor country 
doctor, appeared at the dress-rehearsal in a lovely 
creation by Paquin. Anything more complacent 
than the lady thus arrayed was never seen on the 
West End stage, and that is saying a good deal. 

“Good Lord!” cried poor Austin Dawes, who, 
as a critic, should have been prepared for any- 
thing. “Is she going to wear that?” 

He was sitting in the stalls with Jilly, who was 
ready for her part of Sarah, the smutty-faced 
kitchen-maid. 

“Of course not,” replied Jilly. “I expect she 
has to go on to some at home or something after 
the rehearsal.” 

“But this is the final rehearsal, and I want to 
see the dresses. Why shouldn’t she be dressed 
as at night? All the others are!” 

“I dunno. Let’s ask Hallack.” 

So they got hold of the producer, who informed 
them, with a weary, hysterical giggle, that Miss 
Mummery had every intention of wearing that 
dress the next evening. 

Austin Dawes went into the corridor and swore 


TOP-NOTCHERS 1 


most horribly. He was so overwrought with the 
endless rehearsals and all the anxiety that he 
could have rushed screaming into the street. 

But he didn’t. He returned to the auditorium, 
where he found Sir William, with Jilly at his 
elbow, talking suavely across the floats to Miss 
Mummery. 

“Charming, my dear! Charming! You don’t 
think it too good for the part, do you?” 

Miss Mummery was at once in arms. As a 
mother will fight for her child, or a cow for her 
calf, or a goose for her goslings, so Miss Mum- 
mery was prepared to fight for that Paquin gown. 
She saw the sketches in the evening-papers; she 
read the descriptions; she heard the envious mur- 
murs of the women in the stalls ! If the dress 
didn’t suit the part, the part must be made to suit 
the dress! Nothing simpler ! 

She came down to the floats, shielding her eyes 
from the glare and searching for Sir William be- 
hind the voice. 

“I beg your pardon, Sir William?” 

“I was just wondering, my dear, whether your 
frock, charming as it is, was not a little too charm- 
ing for the part?” 

Miss Mummery visibly stiffened. She meant the 
stiffening to be visible. On the eve of the pro- 
duction, even Sir William Mylchreest was in the 
hollow of her hand. 


272 


THE GAY LIFE 


“I fail to see, Sir William, how any dress could 
be too charming for the Bodega Theatre.” 

“Quite so! Quite so!” agreed Sir William. 

Miss Mummery smiled sweetly, turned, and re- 
tired up stage, the long train of the country doc- 
tor’s wife — who, by the way, was spending the 
evening alone with her family — sweeping the 
stage-cloth as she went. 

“It’s idiotic!” snapped Jilly in an undertone. 

“Steady! Steady!” breathed the great man- 
ager. 

“But it is! You must see it! The author’s 
nearly crazy about it! Here’s this woman, in a 
little country home, sitting with her husband and 
children and doing a little knitting in a fifty- 
guinea frock! There’s no sense in it! We shall 
be guyed off the stage!” 

“Gently! Gently! We must give and take! 
Give and take !” 

“We can give all right,” muttered Jilly, “but 
I’m blest if we shall take!” 


VII 

Jilly was in her dressing-room. In less than 
an hour, the curtain would rise on the second per- 
formance in London of the play in which she had 
staked her all. 

Yes, the first-night was over and the papers had 


TOP-NOTCHERS’ 


done their worst. The play was utterly feeble, 
inconsistent, banal. What could Westbury have 
seen in it? What was it doing at the Bodega 
Theatre? Why were such plays written? And 
so on and so on, one paper after another, until 
Jilly threw them all into a corner and gave 
herself up to shouts of ironic laughter. 

What a farce it had been, that first perform- 
ance! The stifling theatre, the jaded audience, 
the still more jaded critics, Sir William and Lady 
Mylchreest in a box with faces of non-committal 
stone, Sir Thomas Revill and Lady Revill in an- 
other box with faces of non-committal lead! 

The great “receptions” for Miss Mummery, 
Miss Hardaway, Miss Raleigh, and Mr. Sam 
Bover. The faithful friends in the pit who had 
applauded Jilly. The icy welcome extended to 
the unknown young players from Westbury! 
What a farce ! What a bitter little farce! 

The finish — with Sir William Mylchreest’s box 
discreetly empty, and Sir Thomas RevilFs box 
discreetly empty, and half the stalls allotted to 
the hurried critics empty! And the calls, with 
Miss Mummery trailing on and off in the Paquin 
gown, and Miss Hardaway being incredibly lus- 
cious at her friends in stalls and boxes, and Miss 
Raleigh very pert and spry, and Mr. Bover, with 
one hand on his heart, dreaming of management, 
and Jilly giving a little bob that delighted her 
friends in the pit ! 


THE GAY LIFE 


274 

Miss Mummery had forgiven her, and Miss 
Hardaway had congratulated her, and the syco- 
phantic dresser had assured her that the play was 
a “go,” and the author had thanked her for lead- 
ing a forlorn hope with such pluck! 

So much for the first-night. 

“Now,” said Jilly to herself, as she smeared 
in the black smudges, “to get the play back to its 
proper shape and give ’em the show that we 
gave at Westbury!” 

A tap at the door. Would Miss Nipchin see 
Mr. James Rhimes, of the Transatlantic Exchange 
Variety Artistes’ Association? 

“Transatlantic?” thought Jilly. “That’s got 
something to do with America!” Yes, she would 
see Mr. Rhimes. 

Mr. Rhimes came in briskly, despite the heat 
of the weather, and briskly got to work. He was 
a small, clean-shaven, spare man, who looked as 
if he would live to a hundred-and-eighty and keep 
working at full pressure all the time. 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Nip- 
chin. Sorry to see you’ve struck a snag.” 

“I didn’t know we had,” replied Jilly. 

“No? Well, Miss Nipchin, that’s one way of 
taking it. You can either take it lying down and 
save your money or put up a fight and lose it. If 
you take my advice, you’ll play for safety this 
journey.” 

“Did you come in to tell me that?” 


“TOP-NOTCHERS” 


275 

“No, Miss Nipchin, I did not. I can mind my 
own business as well as most men, I hope, and I 
thank you for the gentle hint. I came to ask you 
whether you might possibly care for a little run 
round the United States, with a pretty good piece 
of money to bring home at the end of it.” 

Jilly turned and looked steadily at Mr. Rhimes. 

“What makes you come and ask me that?” 

“Just business.” 

“Nothing else?” 

“I don’t understand you.” 

“Nobody put you up to it?” 

“Certainly not. I think and act for myself. 
I’ve been watching you a goodish while, Miss 
Nipchin. I’ve been waiting for the right moment 
to jump in and get you for the other side. This 
seems to me the moment. If I’m wrong, say the 
word and I’ll get on with the next job.” 

“Why did you think this was the moment?” 

“From what I said when I first came in. You’ve 
hit a snag. There’s no good blinking it. You 
got the wrong end of the season, a bad press, and 
a bad play.” 

“No!” shouted Jilly. “I won’t have that! I 
know what this play ought to be, and London’s 
going to see what it ought to be, if it costs me 
every penny I’ve got. I’m obliged to you for your 
offer, Mr. Rhimes, and I should very much like 
to go to America for more reasons than one, but 
I’m not going to turn tail and let this show down 


2 7 6 THE GAY LIFE 

before it’s had half or a quarter of a chance ! 4 
I’m not that sort! I’m not cut out, maybe, for 
West End management! I believe in sticking by 
the author, and giving his play as he wrote it, and 
giving the big public a chance to see that play!” 

Mr. Rhimes bowed. 

“Miss Nipchin,” said he, “I admire you more 
than I can say. I’ve not had all the decent feel- 
ing knocked out of me yet, even at my game, and 
I wish you all the luck in the world with your 
enterprise ! How long can you hold out?” 

“I dunno. Good deal depends on Sir William, 
of course, but he can’t shut down in less than 
three weeks unless I agree.” 

“I understand. In three weeks’ time, Miss Nip- 
chin, I shall call on you again. In the meantime, 
if you’ll allow me, I’ll communicate with New 
York and make certain provisional arrangements 
about your contracts here. Now I’m going round 
to the front of the house, I’m going to buy a seat 
for the show to-night, and I’m going to put my 
hands together until they’re mincemeat ! To our 
next!” 

For a week, naturally, the business was de- 
plorable. At the end of the week, up went the 
notice. From that moment, the play picked up 
each night. The old “laughs” were recovered; 
the old spirit gradually returned. 

But it was too late. The money would not 
hold out, and the weather was still sweltering. On 


“TOP-NOTCHERS” 277 

one evening only did rain fall, and then the re- 
ceipts were doubled in five minutes. 

Sir William and Lady Mylchreest had left the 
country for cooler climes. Jilly wrote a passion- 
ate letter to the manager, pointing out that the 
play was slowly turning the corner, and offering to 
mortgage her salary to keep it running. She re- 
ceived the following telegram in reply. 

“The condemnation was universal. I see no 
hope. Rely on my long experience.” 

So that ended the matter. The company broke 
up. The theatre shut down and turned a blue 
face to the world. The little Westbury people 
went into country cottages; the stars went on 
visits to country mansions; the author went into 
a home of rest. 

As for Jilly, she went to the United States of 
America with a contract in her pocket for thirty- 
five weeks at a thousand dollars a week. When 
she showed this piece of paper to Miss Hardaway 
and Miss Mummery— and I have never denied 
that Jilly was human — those dear creatures kissed 
her with the greatest affection. 


CHAPTER IX 


THE GOLDEN GATE 

I 

Behold Jilly stretched out on a steamer-chair, 
a rug about her legs, an unopened book in her 
hand, staring rather miserably at the Atlantic 
Ocean. Never before, strange as it may seem, 
had she been upon the sea. Most of us begin 
with a narrow strip, such as the Channel, but 
Jilly had flung herself, characteristically enough, 
at the Atlantic Ocean. 

At her side was Dorothy Hollis, who had 
grown into a remarkably pretty girl since the 
days when Jilly had rescued her from poverty and 
a scolding mother, and taken Dorothy to live with 
her as companion. Dorothy, also, was wrapped 
in a rug and stared at the Atlantic, but her ex- 
pression was far from miserable. On the con- 
trary, she seemed unusually happy and excited. 

“My word,” said Jilly, “it’s an awful lot of 
water, kid!” 

“Yes! Isn’t it lovely!” rhapsodised Dorothy. 

“Dunno so much about lovely. I wish I was 
safe at home in me own little flat!” 

278 


THE GOLDEN GATE 279 

“Oh, Jilly, how can you say that when the sun’s 
shining on the sea, and you’re going to a beauti- 
ful engagement in that beautiful country!” 

“Engagement?” echoed Jilly. “You mean the 
contract for ‘vaudevilly,’ I suppose? That isn’t 
the kind of engagement I want! There! Now 
I’ve said it!” 

“Oh, but the other is sure to happen! I know 
it will ! When Mr. Chauncey hears ” 

“Tcht!” Jilly glanced apprehensively about 
her. “Be careful, Dolly! You mustn’t say a 
word about Ed Chauncey or my contract on the 
halls. If you do, it may spoil everything. This 
boat’s full of Americans, and some of them are 
theatrical folk. So you will be careful, won’t 
you?” 

Dorothy was all repentance. 

“I’m so sorry! I won’t say another word! 
Really and truly I won’t ! But we can talk about 
it to each other in whispers, can’t we?” 

Jilly laughed. 

“Oh, yes, we can talk in whispers, kid, or out 
of whispers so long as you don’t mention names.” 

“Well, then,” whispered Dolly, so cautiously 
that even Jilly could only just hear her, “what I 
was going to say is this: Mister No-Matter-Who 
is just pining away for love of Miss Never-Mind. 
There!” 

Squeamish as she felt, and consequently reluc- 


280 


THE GAY LIFE 


taut to move an inch, Jilly felt compelled to turn 
her head sufficiently to stare at Dolly. 

“What on earth are you talking about, kid?” 

Dorothy, nearly bursting with suppressed ex- 
citement and information, nodded her little head a 
great many times with wonderful rapidity. 

“But I don’t understand!” exclaimed Jilly. 
“How can you know that?” 

“I do know, all the same. And I know some- 
thing else!” 

“About ?” 

“About Mister No-Matter-Who. Yes. I 
know that it was high time you came to America.” 

“High time? Why?” 

A sudden pang of jealousy seized hold of Jilly. 
She wondered why she had never felt it before. 
Ed was very good-looking and had charming 
manners. He was, in short, a very fascinating 
fellow. Why in the world, then, had it not oc- 
curred to her that America was full of young 
women on the look-out for good-looking hus- 
bands with fascinating manners? The pangs 
were so awful that they completely cured the 
symptoms of sea-sickness. 

“Because,” announced Dorothy solemnly, “he 
wants looking after.” 

“Looking after? Is he ill?” 

“No.” 

“Has he taken to drink?” 

“No.” 


THE GOLDEN GATE 281 

“Well, what is it? Why don’t you tell me? 

Has some beast of a girl ?” 

“No.” 

“Huh! What a relief!” Jilly, frightened no 
longer, behaved rather ungratefully. 

“I don’t believe you know anything about him 
at all,” she observed, with a fine show of indif- 
ference. “How could you? You’re only trying 
to frighten me.” 

“I’m not. And I do know something.” 

“Well, then, out with it this instant or I’ll 
chuck you into the sea and a shark will eat you!” 

“He’s practising a very dangerous trick.” 

“I know that ! Leaving me in the lurch ! Serve 
him right if he lost me altogether!” 

“I don’t mean that sort of trick. I mean a real 
trick — part of his business.” 

“His business as an equilibberist?” 

“Yes. It’s the most difficult thing ever been 
done. Nobody knows exactly what it is except 
that he’s booked to do it in New York about ten 
days after we land. Can’t you guess why he’s 
doing it? I can.” 

“Because he doesn’t care what happens, I sup- 
pose. The silly Juggins!” 

“No, that isn’t it. It’s because he’ll get a 
tremendous lot of money for it, and, if he gets a 
tremendous lot of money, he can ask Miss Never- 
Mind to marry him. I think it’s splendid of him, 
Jilly! I think he’s been splendid all through! 


282 


THE GAY LIFE 


There aren’t so many men in the world who’d run 
away from a girl because she was earning too 
much money!” 

Jilly did not reply. She was thinking deeply — 
as well she might. Suddenly she turned on 
Dorothy. 

“By the way, miss, how do you know all this?” 

Dorothy blushed. There was no doubt about 
it. A delicate blush spread all over her face and 
neck, making her even prettier than usual. 

“Out with it!” commanded Jilly, suddenly feel- 
ing very grown-up. “I’m responsible for you as 
well as meself. What have you been up to?” 

“Nothing,” said Dorothy, enjoying the situa- 
tion despite her embarrassment. 

“Yes, you have! I saw that blush! Who is 
it? Tell me all about it, kid, or I’ll have the 
boat turned round and take you back to Eng- 
land!” 

“Oh, no, don’t do that!” Dorothy clasped her 
hands. “He’s very nice, he really is, and we had 
all the deck to ourselves !” 

“Oh, you had, had you? Nice goings on, I 
must say! When, if you please?” 

“This morning. Don’t you remember I got 
up and came out on deck quite early? Well, he 
was out, too, and it seemed silly to keep passing 
each other and saying nothing. So when he’d 
taken off his hat eleven times, I suppose I smiled 
a little. I couldn’t help it — really and truly I 


THE GOLDEN GATE 


283 

couldn’t. And then he smiled, and the next thing 
was I was looking through his glasses at a ship a 
long way off.” 

“Indeed?” Jilly was very stern and superior. 
“And did he tell you all this about Ed?” 

“Well, yes, in a way — yes.” 

“In a way? In what sort of a way? Out with 
it or I call the Captain!” 

“Oh, no, no ! I’ll tell you everything. He’s an 
American actor, and he’s been over to London to 
play in a piece that failed, and he seemed to think 
that you and I had something to do with the 
stage ” 

“Really? Mr. Clever-Shanks !” 

“I don’t know how he guessed, because you’re 
Miss Meredith all right in the passenger-list. 
Anyway, he did, and so he lent me a New York 
theatrical paper, and there I saw about Ed.” 

“You sly little thing! Have you got that paper 
now?” 

“Yes,” said Dorothy. 

“Then go and fetch it at once !” 

“I needn’t fetch it. It’s here.” 

“Here? Where?” 

“I’m sitting on it.” 

For the next ten minutes there was dead silence, 
as Jilly read and re-read the paragraph about 
Ed Chauncey. When she looked up, her face was 
very white. 


284 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Do you feel ill, dear?” asked Dorothy 
anxiously. 

“No. I’m all right. Do you know the name of 
this American actor?” 

“Oh, yes. He gave me his card.” Dorothy 
produced it with a flourish. 

“ ‘Augustus Dinck,’ ” read Jilly. “What’s Au- 
gustus doing at the present moment, kid?” 

“I’m not sure.” 

“Have a guess.” 

Dorothy screwed up her eyes and bit her lip 
and clenched her fists to show how hard she was 
guessing. 

“I should guess,” she said at last, “that he was 
just round the other side of the deck staring at 
the porpoises through his glasses.” 

“That’s a pretty good guess, kid. You’d better 
go and see if you’ve guessed right. If you have, 
I’d like a few words with Augustus.” 

“You’re not going to scold him, Jilly? We 
couldn’t help talking — really and truly we 
couldn’t.” . 

“I don’t say I am and I don’t say I’m not. Just 
you go and fetch Augustus away from those silly 
porpoises.” 


II 

Mr. Augustus Dinck came walking as deli- 
cately as the roll of the ship would allow. He 


THE GOLDEN GATE 285 

was a tall man, about twenty-eight to thirty years 
of age, with that air of being perfectly at home 
on an Atlantic liner typical of the travelled 
American. The English are a sea-going race, and 
they indicate the fact by looking thoroughly 
tousled and uncomfortable on the deck of a 
steamer. They crumple their collars as they 
mount the gangway, and they keep them crumpled 
until they leave the ship. The women, having no 
collars to crumple, do the best they can with 
their hair. Neatness is flung overboard until the 
moment comes to step ashore. Their walks on 
deck are accompanied by a patter of hairpins 
nearly resembling hail. 

Dorothy, very shyly, made the introductions. 
She was then told to go and look for distant ships, 
whilst Mr./ Dinck, at Jilly’s invitation, dropped 
into the vacant chair. 

“I trust,” began Mr. Dinck, “you are enjoying 
the trip, Miss Meredith.” 

“Don’t be a humbug!” retorted Jilly. 

“I’ll try not,” replied Mr. Dinck, without so 
much as the flicker of an eyelid. 

“That’ll save a lot of time, because humbug 
don’t pay with yours truly. If you had your way, 
you’d like me to be stretched out in me bunk the 
entire voyage !” 

“Somebody’s been giving me a bad character,” 
said Mr. Dinck, with a slight smile. 


286 


THE GAY LIFE 


“That’s right, and I’ll tell you who gave it you. 
Old man Adam.” 

“I’ve had a down on that old feller for quite a 
while, Miss Meredith. It’s too bad of him to 
keep tripping me up this way. What’s he been 
telling you?” 

“He told me that there was a very pretty little 
girl on board who gets out on deck early in the 
morning. And he told me that you had a pair of 
glasses handy for looking at ships in the what-you- 
call-it.” 

“Why, if that’s all he told you, the old man let 
me down lightly.” 

“Don’t be too sure of that. He told me that 
the trip was only just begun, and that one day on 
board ship was as full of opportunities as a month 
ashore.” 

“That’s another rotten old dud — Old Man Op- 
portunity. Seems to me you and I could write a 
pretty fair sequel to ‘Pilgrim’s Progress,’ Miss 
Meredith.” 

“Chuck it, then, and talk straight. I’m looking 
after that kid, see? I’m not a Spoil-Sport, but I 
don’t want her getting serious. One of that sort,” 
she added, musingly, “is about enough in a party 
of two.” 

“Tell me what to do, Miss Meredith, and I’ll 
do it. I’m not quite old enough for the heavy 
father, but I might manage Uncle Jim, though I 


THE GOLDEN GATE 287 

don’t mind telling you Cousin Jack would come 
easier.” 

“What’s the matter with Brother Harry?” 

“Right you are ! We’ll make it Brother Harry. 
But don’t forget it takes two to play at that 
brother business.” 

“You’re not at all stuck on yourself, are you?” 
quizzed Jilly. 

“I don’t know that I am.” 

“Well, I don’t think you are. It’s a pity,” she 
added, with an effort at carelessness, “that we 
haven’t got a mutual friend.” 

“Maybe we have?” suggested Mr. Dinck. 

“Not very likely. I don’t know many Ameri- 
cans very well. This is the first time I’ve been 
across, you see.” 

“But what about England? A good many 
Americans find their way to your country, Miss 
Meredith.” 

“Yes, I suppose they do. But I don’t think 

I Oh, well, yes, I do know one man rather 

well, but I daresay you wouldn’t know him your- 
self.” 

“Might I ask his name?” 

“Chauncey.” 

“Not dear old Ed?” Mr. Dinck’s countenance 
radiated such enthusiasm at the mention of Ed 
that Jilly almost jumped from her chair and 
kissed him. But there were other passengers near 
by, so she restrained herself, and merely replied: 


288 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Yes, that’s his first name, I believe.” 

“You don’t say! Well, of all the luckiest 
turns! Why, Ed and I foregather at the Kittens’ 
every night of our lives !” 

“What’s that? A pub?” 

“Oh, no! Not a pub — a club!” 

“Same thing, sometimes.” 

“Sometimes, but not in this case. The Kittens’ 
Club is famous all over the world. Ed Chauncey 
is a very well-known member.” 

“A letter addressed there would find him, eh?” 

“For sure! Or I’d be only too happy to take 
a message !” 

“I don’t know that I shall need to send one. 
All depends on how you behave yourself, Mr. 
Dinck.” 

“If Brother Harry should develop into Cousin 
Jack, eh?” 

“Then I should have to get busy, as you say, 
with the telephone to the Kittens’ Club. How’s 
Ed looking, by the way?” 

“Well, when I saw him last, which was about 
two months ago, I didn’t fancy him. He seemed 
depressed. Been that way, for the matter of that, 
ever since he came back from your side. You 
don’t happen to know, Miss Meredith, if there 
was a lady in the case?” 

“How should I know?” 

“No offence, I hope?” 

“Certainly not.” 


THE GOLDEN GATE 


289 

“Thanks. Well, some of us thought it might 
be that, but Ed never let on. All the same, we 
don’t feel easy about him. Have you heard of 
this new stunt he’s putting up at the Rotterdam?” 

“What’s that?” 

“Why, it’s a fool sort of a thing, though it 
means big money. You know his old act — bal- 
ancing himself by one hand on a pile of chairs? 
Well, he’s going about three better than that. On 
the back of the highest chair he places a big ball. 
He balances himself on the ball, and then he takes 
a steel rod and places one end of it on the ball. 
As far as I can get at it, he means to hoist him- 
self up this steel rod, and stand on one hand at 
the very top of the whole bunch. When you con- 
sider that the foundation of the structure is a 
table and chairs, so that it’s impossible to place 

a net to catch him if he should fall ! Why, 

Miss Meredith, what’s the matter? You look as 
white as a sheet? Shall I call a stewardess? 
Would you like some brandy?” 

“No, no! I’m all right, thanks. It’s- — only — 
the ship. When does Ed do this stunt?” 

“As nearly as I remember, about a week after 
we land.” 

“Oh, yes, that’s right.” 

“You knew?” 

“Dolly — my little friend — saw it in a paper 
you lent her. I’d forgotten.” 

“That’s a sweet name — Dolly,” murmured 


THE GAY LIFE 


290 

Augustus Dinck, gazing at the horizon with round 
eyes and a drooping mouth. 

Jilly made no reply. She was busily thinking. 

“It seems to suit her!” purred Augustus. 
“That lovely fair hair, and those blue eyes, 

and Now, Cousin Jack, keep your distance! 

Brother Harry, one pace to the front, march!” 

Jilly seemed perfectly oblivious of all this. Ed 
was risking his life for her — so that he might earn 
a big pile of money and be able to ask her to be 
his wife. What idiots men were sometimes! 
What in the world did it matter which had the 
money so long as there was enough to live on? 

He might kill himself practising ! This thought 
sent a shudder all through her! She felt an im- 
pulse to dash to the wireless cabin and send a 
long message forbidding the turn ! But what right 
had she? None at all! The thing was mad- 
dening ! 

She must hatch a plot. There must be some 
way of preventing the turn. He would practise 
it with a net, and the net would not be discarded 
until he was ready to perform ; not, certainly, be- 
fore the final week. But how could she endure 
the slow agony of the voyage? Every day would 
be a torture! 

“Funny about names!” Mr. Dinck was mut- 
tering. “Some girls might be called Dolly and 
you’d never turn your head to look at them. And 
then you meet one girl called Dolly, and yoy real- 


THE GOLDEN GATE 291 

ise at once that no other name could possibly 
suit her! Yes, it’s just right! Just exactly right! 
Don’t you think so, Miss Meredith?” 

“What’s that?” asked Jilly absently. 

“Don’t you think the name Dolly — if you’ll 
pardon my mentioning it — seems to suit your 
little friend just like a glove?” 

“I daresay it does.” 

“I know it does! Those eyes! That hair! 
That sweet little appealing manner ! That way of 

looking up at a man! That !” 

“Quick!” cried Jilly. “Get a life-belt! 
Brother Harry’s gone overboard!” 


ill 

Ed Chauncey, having spent the morning risking 
his neck in the practice-room at the Rotterdam, 
and the afternoon training every spare ounce of 
flesh off his wiry body, was sitting all alone in a 
corner of the reading-room of the Kittens’ Club. 
Once the cheeriest of mortals, he now fancied 
himself the most miserable. Being in strict train- 
ing, he could neither drink nor smoke; being in 
love, he took no pleasure in the society of his 
fellow-clubmen. 

Suddenly this little mountain of misery hears 
himself hailed from the doorway. 

“What, Ed, boy!” 


292 


THE GAY LIFE 


“GusDinck! Well!” 

Forgetting his role for the moment, Ed rushed 
to meet his old friend. They settled down in 
Ed’s corner to exchange news. They talked about 
the failure of Dinck’s play in England, and Ed’s 
forthcoming stunt in New York. And then 
Augustus got to work on his real mission. 

“Say, Ed, there was a friend of yours on our 
boat coming across.” 

“There usually is, old man.” 

“Oh, not that sort of friend. A real friend. 
Rather a particular friend, I should fancy.” 

Ed stared hard but said nothing. Mr. Dinck, 
knowing what was coming, felt sorry for him. 
But a plot is a plot, and it was all for Ed’s good at 
the finish, to say nothing of a little bit on the side 
for A. Dinck. 

“She was travelling steerage, but I happened 
across her.” 

“Steerage?” gasped Ed. 

“Yes — poor kid. Pretty rotten luck, eh?” 

“Who — who was it?” 

“Miss Jilly Nipchin.” 

Ed Chauncey went very white. Mr. Dinck had 
to harden his heart. 

“Steerage?” whispered Ed. “But why? She’s 
got plenty of money — any amount of stuff ! Why, 
she was getting four times my salary when I left 
England!” 


THE GOLDEN GATE 


293 

“That may be, but it’s gone, every halfpenny 
of it.” 

“My God! She must have fallen sick! Is she 
sick? Tell me, quick!” 

“Steady, old man ! No, she ain’t sick. But she 
put all she had into a play in London, and the play 
failed So her name’s mud.” 

“And what’s she doing in New York, for the 
love of heaven? This is no place for a girl that’s 
broke! Where is she? I must look after her! 
Give me her address!” 

He had jumped to his feet. Mr. Dinck, with 
difficulty, persuaded him to sit down again for a 
few moments. 

“I’ll give you the address in a minute, Ed. It’s 
away down town — some fifth-rate boarding- 
house. She would go there. I tried to lend her 
some stuff but she wouldn’t touch it. I never 
met a gal with such a backbone to her.” 

“I know! Lord, she’d never touch a penny 
from anybody — not even from me, let alone' 
you !” 

“Thanks, old man.” 

“That’s all right. I know you meant well, Gus, 
but you don’t understand Jilly. She’s one in a 
thousand! In a million! If I told you half of 

the things that girl’s done off her own bat ! 

Where’s the address?” 

“Just a minute. I’m going to give it you all 


THE GAY LIFE 


294 

right, but I want you to do me a little bit of a 
favour in return.” 

“This isn’t like you, Gus — bargaining over a 
thing like this.” 

“No, I don’t say it is, but all’s fair in love and 
war, they say.” 

“Love and war!” Ed glared at Mr. Dinck as 
though he would leap at his throat. “Say, Gus, 
I don’t like that grin you’ve got on. Cut it out, 
boy! We used to be chums!” 

“And we’re going to stay chums. I’m in love 
with Miss Jilly all right ” 

“If this don’t beat cock-fightin’ !” 

“Hold on a bit. There’s more than one way 
of being in love. I’m not in love with her that 
way. I might have been, but it so happened I w 
the other first.” 

“The other? What other?” 

“Why, her little pal.” 

“Didn’t she come alone?” 

“Nope.” 

“Brought a maid along in the steerage, I sup- 
pose?” 

“No, but she brought her little friend, Miss 
Dorothy Hollis.” Here Mr. Dinck paused a mo- 
ment to kiss the tips of his fingers and wave them 
at the ceiling. “Say, Ed, when I first come across 
that kid playing round the deck before break- 
fast ” 


THE GOLDEN GATE 


295 

“What were you doing in the steerage before 
breakfast?” 

Mr. Dinck was a first-class poker-player. Not 
a muscle or an eyelash admitted the mistake. 

“I always walk right round the ship before 
breakfast. Always have. And when I came 
across that little vision of a kid with her blue 
eyes, and her golden hair — - — ! Did you know 
her name was Dolly, Ed?” 

“Is it?” 

“‘Is it?’ Just hear this man! Why, that’s 
the only name !” 

“Are you in earnest over this, Gus? None of 
your games with any pal of Jilly’s, mind!” 

“Games ? Look here, Ed, you know my mother 
and you know my sister. I want to take both the 
girls right along there, and my old mother will 
look after them until — well, until something’s 
settled. Will you back me up in that? It’s all 
the favour I want!” 

“And not a bad move, either, old son, from 
your end of the stick. But I doubt if Jilly will go. 
She won’t be beholden. I know her better than 
to think that.” 

“But if you and Jilly get fixed up ” 

A sudden thought seemed to strike Ed Chaun- 
cey. A queer little smile twisted his lean face. 

“My Lord, Gus, it’s funny the way things hap- 
pen ! Have you heard about my new stunt?” 


THE GAY LIFE 


296 

“Heard about it? I should say I had! You’ll 
have to chuck that now, Ed!” 

“I can’t.” 

“Can’t? Why not?” 

“I never broke a contract yet.” 

“But this is different.” 

“It isn’t different — not for the other party to 
the contract. Look at the walls ! They’ve sunk 
money on it. It’s got to go through. But, by 
gosh, it’s funny.” 

“Pretty risky sort of stunt, isn’t it?” 

“Never been attempted,” said Ed simply. 

“That talks.” 

“Yes. . . . Why couldn’t Jilly have stayed 
away another week? Then I should have been at 
the top of the tree or — the roots.” 

“You’ll be a fool to go on with it, Ed.” 

“I’m going on. That’s straight. There’s such 
a thing as honour, boy, even in the vaudeville 
business. But that don’t help me wondering why 
things happen this way. Got any theory on the 
subject, Gus?” 

“Nope.” 

“Then let’s fetdh the girls out of that dime 
hash-house.” 


IV 

Ed Chauncey and Jilly faced each other in the 
shabby, gloomy little parlour of the down-town 


THE GOLDEN GATE 297 

boarding-house, New York City. Mr. Augustus 
Dinck and Dorothy Hollis had just left the room, 
en route for the White Lights of Broadway. 
They were to return in one hour. Much depended 
upon this one hour. 

“Well,” began Jilly, “what do you think of 
yerself ?” 

“Not a whole heap,” replied Ed. 

“I should say not. I suppose you fancy I ran 
across the Atlantic after you, eh?” 

“I’m not quite such a derned ass as that, Jilly.” 

“I’ve only your word for it. A man who 
chucks a girl out of jealousy ” 

“Jealousy? What on earth are you talking 
about?” 

“ ’Bout you, young feller-me-lad. You called it 
pride, I know, but it wasn’t. It was just ordinary 
jealousy. Well, you’ve nothing to be jealous about 
now. Did Mr. Dinck tell you I was broke?” 

“Yes. Is it right, Jilly?” 

“Near enough. I got to start again on this 
side of the water.” 

“I’m sorry. What made you go and put your 
money into a play?” 

“Shall I tell you?” 

“If it isn’t private.” 

“You did.” 

“Me?” Ed stared very hard. 

“Yes, Mr. Ed Chauncey, Esq., you. Think I 
was going to mope about you? Not much. I 


298 THE GAY LIFE 

went up to Westbury and played in repertory. 
That’s how it all started.” 

“But London? What made you risk your 
money on a show in London? It’s worse than 
gambling on a play in New York!” 

“Shall I tell you that, too?” 

“I’d like to know.” 4 

“It’s a bit hard, this part. But it don’t mean 
anything, understand. I did it because — well, if a 
play’s a hit in London it generally comes to New 
York, don’t it?” 

“Jilly ! You did it forme!” 

“Keep yer seat, young man ! Because I was a 
fool then it don’t follow I’m a fool now. I’ve 
had a sea voyage. That blows away the cob- 
webs.” 

“Has it blown away all your — affection — for 
me, Jilly?” 

“Never had any.” 

Ed Chauncey, very slowly, reached for his hat. 
Jilly said nothing. He rose and moved towards 
the door. Still Jilly said nothing. His hand was 
actually on the handle of the door before she 
spoke. 

“Going to admit the public?” asked Jilly. 

“May as well,” said Ed. 

“All right. Only don’t talk to me about ‘affec- 
tion.’ That’s \yhat relations say to each other at 
the end of letters.” 

Chauncey came back. His face was very seri- 


THE GOLDEN GATE 


299 

ous. Jilly decided that he had been punished 
enough. The duel was over. Honour was satis- 
fied. 

“Try a word with more to it,” she suggested. 

He picked her up, quite suddenly, and held her 
so tightly that her feet were dangling in mid-air. 
She didn’t care. The shabby little parlour was a 
palace, and the Prince and Princess had come 
together at last. 

“Let’s go and get married,” whispered Ed. 

“All right,” said Jilly, her feet still dangling. 

“You mean it, Jilly?” 

“What d’you think I came three thousand miles 
for!” 

“You — you peach! Will I just strangle you?” 

“No. Set me down. There’s something I 
forgot.” 

“Nothing that matters now!” 

“Yes, it does. Set me down. I want me feet.” 

So he put her down, very reluctantly, and they 
resumed their chairs. The tussle, after all, was 
still to come. 

“Ed,” said Jilly, “did you mean it when you 
asked me to marry you?” 

“Well, what do you think?” 

“Never mind what I think. Did you or didn’t 
you?” 

“Never meant anything so much in my life.” 

“Right. Now we know where we are, because 


3 oo THE GAY LIFE 

I want to marry you. But I don’t intend to be a 
widow to-day week.” 

Chauncey’s face fell. It was of no use pre- 
tending to misunderstand. 

“That’s got to go through, Jilly.” 

“I beg your pardon. It has not.” 

“A contract’s a contract.” 

“Yes, I know. A marriage-contract as well.” 

“This is a previous contract. I never went 
back on my word yet, Jilly.” 

“Yes, you did — to me.” 

“That wasn’t business.” 

“No. Only a side-show.” 

“I don’t mean that, and you know it. I hon- 
estly thought you could do better.” 

“And can’t the Rotterdam folks do better?” 

“Not in the time.” 

“No, I should say not. It isn’t every day they 
find a mug willing to break his neck in public for 
twopence.” 

“I shan’t break my neck.” 

“Well, your back, then.” 

“Nor my back, neither.” 

“No, you won’t, because this turn’s going to be 
cut right out and to-night. Those are my terms, 
Mr. Chauncey. You can take them or leave 
them.” 

“Look here, Jilly. Be reasonable. These peo- 
ple have billed me all over the City and further. 
The papers have made a big song about it. If I 


THE GOLDEN GATE 


301 

back down now, they’ll say I got cold feet at the 
last minute. I shall have heavy damages to pay. 
My career will be ruined. We can’t afford both 
to be ruined.” 

“And we can’t afford one of us to be dead. 
What’s the good of being dead to get the money 
to get married. Men have got sense, I don’t 
think!” 

“You’re breaking my heart, Jilly.” 

“That won’t matter when your neck’s broke.” 

“I must do it! I must!” 

“All right, my lad. Do It. And I go back on 
the same old boat as soon as ever they’ve turned 
her round.” 

“If you do, I’ll think of a worse stunt.” 

Jilly walked to the window. She was dying to 
burst into sobs, but she never sobbed. Tears were 
sloppy. 

“Tell you what,” came Ed’s voice at last; 
“let me do it once, just to show I can do it, and 
then I’ll cut it out for good and all.” 

“What about your contract?” 

“That’s in my contract. After the first show 
either party has the right to cut it out. I’ll do 
that, Jilly, if you’ll agree.” 

She knew that it meant a big loss. And she 
knew, too, that she would be in agony until after 
the performance. But if those were the best pos- 
sible terms, well 

They sat in one crazy chair and discussed the 


THE GAY LIFE 


3°2 

future. Jilly was not to be in front for the show. 
That was agreed. It would make Ed nervous, 
and nervousness was the one thing he could not 
afford. 

So mudh settled, they dismissed the hateful 
business from their minds and talked of the honey- 
moon. Jilly, given the choice of a place, chose 
San Francisco. Ed loved her, if possible, more 
than ever for that choice, for he was a Califor- 
nian. Dorothy Hollis would stay with Mrs. 
Dinck, which, as Ed pointed out, should pretty 
effectively settle the hash of one Gus. 

At the end of the hour, these two returned. 

“Well,” asked Jilly, putting her arm round her 
little friend, “did you have a nice time?” 

“Bully!” quoted Dolly. 

“Did you see the White Lights?” asked Ed. 

“Yes! Isn’t it wonderful! I think New York 
is the most beautiful place in all the world!” 

“I’ll tell you one advantage it has over Lon- 
don,” said Chauncey; “you can get supper pretty 
well as late as you like.” ? 

“For how many?” asked the innocent Dinck. 

“Well, at a rough guess, four,” replied Ed. 

“Is that so?” asked Jilly. “Then you’d better 
go and find two nice girls to have supper along 
with you.” 

“I guess we’ve found ’em,” said Ed. 

“And supposing they don’t want to go?” 

“Why, in that case,” replied Mr. Dinck, “we 


THE GOLDEN GATE 


303 

shall be reluctantly compelled to use force, Miss 
Nipchin.” 

“Dolly,” said Jilly solemnly, “how often have I 
warned you that all men are brutes!” 


V 

If this were a feuilleton, it would be correct 
at the present point to say that “the whole of 
New York was seething with excitement over the 
daring feat to be performed at the Rotterdam 
Theatre of Varieties by the celebrated equilibrist, 
Ed Chauncey.” Feuilletons aside, however, there 
was sufficient interest in the affair to sell out all 
the reserved seats at high prices. It was not quite 
such a sensational stunt as that of the lamented 
Captain Webb, but there was an even chance that 
the performer would kill himself, and this was 
better than nothing. All the world over, the great 
public will pay money to see a man gamble with 
Death. 

When Ed’s number lit up, a sudden buzz filled 
the auditorium. The people were telling each 
other that this was “it” at last. They shifted in 
their seats a little. They stretched their necks to 
get them ready for watching every movement. 
Kind fathers took little sons on to their knees. 

A gentleman in a dress-suit came down to the 
floats. Instantly there was a wonderful hush, 


THE GAY LIFE 


304 

such as you seldom get in a cathedral. Nobody 
coughed. Great statesmen and great actors, once 
or twice in a lifetime, get such a compliment. 
Bishops never do. A bishop who preached to a 
congregation without a cough would probably 
suffer from nervous prostration. 

The gentleman in the dress-suit, who was Ed’s 
manager, said: 

“Ladies and gentlemen, before Mr. Chauncey 
comes on to the stage, I should like to claim your 
attention for one minute. Mr. Chauncey has long 
been known to you as the premier equilibrist of the 
World. (Loud cheers. Half of them had never 
heard his name before the advertisements of this 
stunt came out — but no matter.) Mr. Chauncey 
has appeared in every great city in the United 
States of America, and also of Canada. Further- 
more, he has recently returned from a long pro- 
fessional visit to Europe, during the course of 
which Mr. Chauncey had the honour of appear- 
ing before Their Majesties the King and Queen 
of England (loud cheers, whilst Ed, in the wings, 
muttered “Liar” to his dresser) and all the 
Crowned Heads of Europe. 

“To-night, however, Mr. Chauncey will at- 
tempt a feat of even greater daring than those 
with which you are familiar. I will not anticipate 
your interest by attempting to describe it. Suffi- 
cient to say that the fee he is to receive at the con- 
clusion of the turn is the highest ever paid to one 


' THE GOLDEN GATE 305 

individual artiste by any management. (Tre- 

mendous cheers.) 

“Just one word of warning, ladies and gentle- 
men. As Mr. Chauncey’ s life depends upon his 
nerve at the critical moment, I will ask you all to 
refrain from any sudden noise or ejaculation that 
might jeopardize the existence of this famous per- 
former. 

“I will now introduce Mr. Ed Chauncey !” 

Whereupon Ed, in fleshings and a long ulster, 
stepped out from the wings* saying to his dresser 
as he went, “Enter the Human Chimpanzee !” A 
tremendous roar of applause greeted him. It 
really was tremendous. They were all very grate- 
ful to him for so kindly risking his neck for their 
amusement. 

Ed bowed, shook hands with his manager, and 
the manager retired to the wings, where Ed’s 
dresser was holding his lighted cigar. Ed took 
off his ulster and laid it over a gilded sofa. All 
the women admired his slim and supple figure. 
He rubbed his feet in some French chalk. The 
children asked why he did that, and were told, in 
excited whispers, not to worry or say a single 
word. 

Mr. Chauncey vaulted on to his table, placed a 
chair on the table, and stood on one hand on the 
back of the chair. Loud applause. A footman 
in livery handed up more chairs in rapid succes- 
sion. Ed tried them all, rung by rung, spar by 


THE GAY LIFE 


3 °6 

spar, and seemed satisfied. The ladder of chairs 
was growing. He was within eight feet of the 
“borders.” 

The footman threw him a hollow steel ball. 
Ed caught it nimbly, and showed it to the audi- 
ence. There was no nick or crevice in it. They 
could see that. The orchestra was playing, very 
exquisitely and softly, Mendelssohn’s “Spring 
Song.” Ed had selected that composition. It was 
Jilly’s favourite. 

The footman threw him, at last, a steel rod. 
This, also, Ed showed to the audience. The or- 
chestra stopped, quite suddenly, in the middle of a 
bar. A thrill ran through the massed audience. 
Now for it! A dropped pin would have made a 
crash ! 

The performer raised himself on to the back of 
the topmost chair. He stood there for a moment 
or two, smiling at the audience. The men on the 
bridge, looking down, heard him mutter to him- 
self, “Great Men and Their Hobbies ! Ed Chaun- 
cey at Home !” 

He placed the steel ball on the back of the 
chair, between his legs, and the steel rod on top 
of that. The trick seemed utterly impossible. 
Women in the audience covered their eyes and 
would not look any longer, much to the annoy- 
ance of the men who had paid fabulous prices for 
their seats. But Ed was ignorant of all this. He 
was concentrating on the ball and the steel rod. 


THE GOLDEN GATE 307 

The slender tower of chairs was nothing. He had 
trained himself to regard them as nothing — a 
mere pedestal. 

With one quick alert movement, he was stand- 
ing on the steel ball. The audience could not help 
itself. It burst into a terrific cheer. Luckily, Ed 
was prepared for that. He had known it would 
come just at that point. Keeping a beautiful bal- 
ance, he waited. 

To complete the promised trick, he had now 
to balance himself on one hand at the top of the 
steel rod, which, in turn, rested on the steel ball. 
He found the precise spot, and gripped the rod. 
The amazed audience presently saw the light be- 
tween his feet and the ball ! But, this time, there 
was not a murmur of any sort. They knew that a 
man’s life depended on their silence. 

And then — something happened. It was all so 
quick that hardly anyone saw the beginning of it, 
but the steel ball left the back of the chair and 
came hurtling downwards ! The women shrieked ! 
Even the men cried out! Here, if you like, was a 
thrill for their money! 

But Ed Chauncey was not killed yet. He 
alighted, with amazing dexterity, on the back of 
the highest chair, and just kept his balance with 
the steel rod. But for that rod he would almost 
certainly have been killed. As it was, he stood 
there, smiling, bowing, and kissing his hand, 
whilst the audience yelled its applause and an at- 


3 o8 THE GAY LIFE 

tendant dashed out and caught the ball in his arms. 

“Chuck it up!” said Ed, and they all knew, 
though they could not hear for the noise, what 
order he had given. A few of the people ex- 
claimed that the trick should be stopped, but the 
majority applauded harder than ever. He had so 
nearly done it that they passionately wanted him 
to succeed! 

Once again the ball was placed in position; 
once again the rod was placed on the ball; once 
again they saw the space between his feet and the 
ball gradually growing wider. Up he went! Up, 
and up, and up ! If the ball should slip now ! Or 
the rod! How could he possibly save himself? 
The women, in their excitement, were clinging to 
the arms of their menfolk, and muttering, “Oh, 
my land! Oh, my Lord! Oh, my land!” 

Now, at last, he was straightening out that 
lithe, slim, pink form at the very summit of the 
steel rod ! The trick was done ! Live or die, he 
had done it, and Ed Chauncey, for the moment, 
was the idol of New York! He knew it, even as 
he poised himself in that perilous attitude, and 
he wondered what Jilly would say when she heard 
of it and saw the papers in the morning! 

Slowly, he began the descent. Down, down, 
down, till his feet touched the steel ball. Then 
he did something he had never rehearsed, but 
which the accident of a few minutes before had 
taught him. With a little cry of triumph, he 


THE GOLDEN GATE 


309 

kicked the steel ball from under him, and landed 
on his feet on the back of the topmost chair! 

It was all roses after that — roses and shouts 
and waving handkerchiefs! For eight minutes, 
by his manager’s watch, he stood bowing and smil- 
ing on the stage! And the business men, in the 
meantime, were gathered together in the wings, 
entirely surrounded by contract-forms and cheque- 
books. 


VI 

But there was a double surprise in store for 
these gentlemen. Having received his fee for the 
initial performance, as agreed, Ed astonished 
them all by refusing to negotiate further. The 
consternation was tragic! They had been so busy 
counting the unhatched chickens that this possibil- 
ity had never occurred to them. They were at first 
incredulous, and then angry. 

“Why, Ed,” sneered one financier, who never 
crossed Broadway without taking a policeman’s 
arm, “I scarcely expected you to get cold feet!” 

“It isn’t cold feet,” replied Ed quietly. 

“Looks mighty like it, anyway.” 

“That’s what the public will think,” struck in 
another. 

“They can think what they like,” said 
Chauncey. 


3io 


THE GAY LIFE 


“Don’t the terms suit you? They’re pretty 
handsome, anyway!” 

“I’m not quarrelling with the terms.” 

“Then what’s your trouble ? Lord, man, you’re 
throwing away a fortune!” 

“And getting one,” replied Ed, with his slow, 
easy smile. 

“Not from another management!” 

“Why, yes, from another management.” 

They all began to speak together at this. His 
contract expressly stated that they had the first 
call. They were ready to exercise their option. 
If he attempted to appear under another manage- 
ment in that trick they would certainly injunct him. 

“This management I’m speaking of,” explained 
Ed, “ain’t no vaudeville management. It’s a pri- 
vate affair — a syndicate strictly limited to two per- 
sons. Got me now, Steve?” 

“Snakes if I don’t think it’s a woman!” ex- 
claimed the leader of the crowd. “Who’d ’a’ 
thought Ed Chauncey would get fooling away the 
best chance of his career for the sake of a petti- 
coat! Come, Ed, pull yourself together, my boy! 
If you can’t think of yourself, think of us !” 

This pathetic plea moved the lover not a whit. 

“A contract’s a contract,” he reminded them. 
“I got the right to back down after one show, 
and I do it, and*that’s all there is to it!” 

“Well,” said the leader, “all I’ve got to say is 
this. If you’re marrying a big pile of stuff, that’s 


THE GOLDEN GATE 31 1 

all right. Lucky for you. But if you ain’t, as 
sure as you’re standing there the day’ll come when 
you’ll want us to book your show. Now, Chaun- 
cey, just put it to yourself : what will our answer 
be?” 

Before Ed could reply a small, ill-clad urchin, 
with bare feet and a grubby face, dropped from 
the “cat-ladder” and thrust himself into the very 
centre of the ring. Ed stared at this apparition 
just as hard as the financiers. And yet, in a way, 
there was something familiar about it. 

“You can answer wot you bally well please!” 
struck in the youth. “If you want necks broke in 
this here theaytre, get up on top of that lot of 
chairs and break yer own! See? Because Ed 
Chauncey’s neck, from to-morrow on, belongs to 
me, and I got no use for it in two pieces ! If you 
want to know who I am, I’m Jilly Nipchin, from 
London, England. For any further details I’ll 
refer you to Mr. James Rhimes, my agent, who’s 
somewhere there in the background. And if you 
want to know what I’m doing in your hall, in this 
get-me-up, and on your stage, I’ll tell you. I 
promised Ed I wouldn’t see the show from the 
front, and I didn’t. But I wasn’t going to miss 
it — not me ! So I faked meself up in these togs — 
which I happened to have in me trunk in case I got 
a job at five dollars a week — and I got round one 
of the chaps to let me see the turn from the flies. 
And I did see it, my Gawd ! It’s the pluckiest bit 


THE GAY LIFE 


312 

of work I ever see, and now I’ll tell you something 
else, gentlemen. 

“You say Ed’s playing it low down to act on 
the fair rights in his contract. If I’d had my way 
he’d have broke the contract altogether, and 
chanced the consequences. But he wouldn’t do 
that. He wouldn’t let you down after you spend- 
ing all that money on the hoardings. So I give 
in, but I made him swear to chuck it for good and 
all — that one trick, I mean — after to-night, or I 
wouldn’t have anything more to do with him. 
That’s the whole tale, and if you try to queer his 
pitch, out of spite, with the other syndicates, all I 
can say is this is not the country of jolly good 
sports I took it for! Ed, you silly old rascal, 
kiss yer wife !” 

Whatever faults your American may have, no- 
body who knows him will deny that his heart is 
right. The financiers, naturally, were disap- 
pointed, but they liked Jilly, and they liked her 
enterprise. So they bore off the happy couple to 
the board-room, where the forthcoming wedding 
was celebrated in bumpers of champagne. 

“Gentlemen,” cried the chief spokesman, with 
one foot on his chair and the other on the table, 
“I give you the toast of a double-turn that will 
prove a winner wherever it may be booked — 
CHAUNCEY and NIPCHIN!” 

“Say!” muttered Mr. Rhimes, busily scribbling 


THE GOLDEN GATE 


3i3 

in his pocket-book, “not a bad little notion, that! 
There’s a bunch of dollars in it!” 


VII 

Ed and Jilly were married next morning by 
special license, and set out, the same afternoon, 
for San Francisco and the Golden Gate. Dorothy 
Hollis was at the station to see them off, chap- 
eroned by Mrs. Dinck and Miss Dinck, with Au- 
gustus Dinck waving his hat like a madman in the 
background. Mr. Rhimes, the agent, was there 
too. Carefully coached by Jilly, who was not yet 
ready to undeceive Ed as to the state of her affairs, 
Mr. Rhimes regretted that nothing had turned 
up for her as yet, but he had hopes of securing her 
an “audition” when she returned to New York. 

Ed had booked a drawing-room car right 
through, and the journey was just a lovely dream 
for little Jilly. Cities or deserts, flowers or rocks, 
it was all beautiful to her. Yellow-faced million- 
aires, grumbling at the dust, would have given half 
their wealth for a pair of eyes that could see life 
and the world as Jilly saw them on that journey. 

They arrived at San Francisco quite late, and 
went to their suite in the hotel forthwith. Jilly’ s 
first vision of the dream-city was reserved for the 
morrow. 


3 i4 THE GAY LIFE 

“I guess you’ll be a bit surprised,” said Ed, 
swelling with loyal pride. 

‘‘Think I will?” replied Jilly. 

“It’ll be a wonder if you’re not!” 

“I wish there could be a surprise for you,” said 

Jilly. 

“Guess I married one,” was Ed’s answer. 

He was up early the following morning, and 
went into his dressing-room to shave. Jilly, still 
in bed, presently heard a bewildered exclamation. 
Then Ed, his face half-lathered, appeared in the 
doorway. 

“Did you suspicion it was there?” he asked. 
“Wot?” 

“Come and look! If this don’t beat !” 

Jilly slipped into a peignoir and went with him 
to the window. On the opposite wall was a huge 
placard, which read : 

JILLY NIPCHIN 

FIRST APPEARANCE IN AMERICA 
of the 

GREAT ENGLISH COMEDIENNE!! 

Across one corner was pasted a small “To- 
night” slip. 

“Wot about it?” said Jilly timidly. 

“You made me look a nice sort of a guy!” 
“Cross, Ed?” 


THE GOLDEN GATE 


3i5 

He looked down at the little figure in the blue 
peignoir, and the cluster of short curls, and the 
childish upturned face, and the grey eyes waiting 
anxiously for his answer. 

“Cross?” whispered Ed. He drew a long, long 
breath. “Gee, kid!” 

His arms went about her. The little warm 
body moulded itself to his. 

They had reached their Golden Gate. 


THE END 



BY THE SAME AUTHOR 


MERRY-ANDREW 


What the English Critics say: 

“Real light comedy.” — Observer. 

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“The scholastic scenes make particularly delightful reading, 
and the whole book is compact of truth and humour.” — Standard. 

“No one can write modern dialogue more naturally than Keble 
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“A book in which every character lives and every situation is 
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proceeding from the pen of such an able and popular author as 
Mr. Keble Howard.” — Western Morning News. 


What the American Critics say: 

“A story of careful and graphic character portrayal.” 

— New York Times. 

“The love story which begins on the first page fully justifies 
our high estimate of the rest of the story, and the character of 
Merry-Andrew himself is a fine piece of work.” — Boston T ranscnpt. 

“Mr Howard’s novel should be an incentive to youth every- 
where to hold to its ideals, and to courageously struggle for their 
accomplishment. MERRY-ANDREW is written in a cheerful 
spirit; it never depresses, and it is not only a novel of today, but 
it will be just as vital and entertaining tomorrow. 

J — Philadelphia Record. 


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NEW YORK: JOHN LANE COMPANY 



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